Crossed Wires
by Chocoegg333
Summary: During its five-year mission, the Enterprise discovers a long-forgotten distress signal. In doing so, the crew find their resolves tested by a series of escapades and a new member looking to find her place in the universe. Plus: secret government prisons, student co-ops, and a sincere lack of self-preservation. Chekov/OC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Lost in Transmission

* * *

Dillan ate breakfast that morning unaware that it would be interrupted.

She hadn't expected the long-unused comms system of her station to suddenly flare up with activity. —And her cereal _definitely_ didn't appreciate being thrown from her lap as she jumped up in shock.

* * *

It started, as most things did, on the bridge.

The Enterprise drifted on the outskirts of the Beta quadrant, going through a routine day of repairs.

While Engineering worked towards its breaking point, those stationed on the bridge were left to running virus scans through their computers and picking gum off the undersides of their seats. All things considered, not the worst possible day—even if it was a little mundane.

"Captain, our systems have picked up a long-range distress signal."

Kirk snapped into action, spinning around in the chair to face Uhura. "Really?"

They were in deep space, far away from any known life forms. This could mean any number of things. Namely: new intelligent life, the very reason they were this far from home.

Or it was just a Federation signal that had ricocheted from its source, around space and into their comms systems.

"What is the sender saying?" he asked.

"We'll know that in a moment, Sir," she said.

Kirk made an open-handed gesture to the rest of the bridge. Uhura nodded and pressed a button at her station.

For three agonizing seconds, static filled the air of the bridge's comms. Kirk grew disheartened, the thought of a rescue-and-or-discovery mission slipping through his fingers…

…Until a voice, young and frightened, filtered through the static.

_"…__thirty-one days since the rest of them left me."_ The bridge crew tensed up at the sound of the child's voice.

_"__They left me behind, and now I can't—" _They all leaned forward in their seats as the transmission cut out.

Uhura fiddled with her controls to bring the voice back, unable to stop thinking about how fearful every word had sounded so far.

_"__It's really cold down here…" _Uhura fought an ongoing battle with the consistency of the connection. Kirk made eye contact with Sulu as the voice resurfaced.

_"…__anyone out there? Anyone who can help me? I- I have the location codes somewhere around here-" _They heard a sniff, then the frantic tapping of fingers on a screen.

_"__H- here!" _the voice exclaimed. _"My coordinates are 991-474-82—" _

Uhura cursed as the static took over once more, but Kirk had heard enough.

"Mr. Chekov, are you able to get a read on those coordinates?"

"Aye, Keptin." He was already scanning several sectors at once for the coordinates' unique sequence. Anything that had an eight and a two in its final slot _and_ came from the same direction as the signal flew across his screen.

"Mr. Sulu, prepare for warp, and open a ship-wide broadcast. I'll need everyone on board for this." In spite of what he'd just heard, Kirk smiled to himself. He had a new mission on his hands.

* * *

Bones started as the report he was currently working on froze. He leaned back as Jim's voice came through the speaker of his padd—and every other one in med bay.

_"__Attention crew of the Enterprise,"_ he said. _"Just a few moments ago, we received a distress signal from an individual in need."_

Bones frowned. This, of course, could just be a trick—someone attempting to lure them out to unsanctioned and uncharted territory. And besides, what kind of person didn't immediately give out their name on an SOS call?

_"__Based on their account, the sender is alone, and stranded on a far-off planet."_

Bones rolled his eyes back into his head. Typical set up.

Jim paused._ "And it sounds like they may also be a child."_

* * *

In engineering, Scotty pocketed his flux coupler and pushed up his goggles. A child? Had he heard that right?

_"__Maintenance will be put on hold for the day, as our main objective: the recovery and hopeful rescue of this individual. We'll be in warp within the minute; Kirk out."_

Scotty grumbled a half-hearted complaint as he packed up his gear. After weeks of Kirk promising him this day for repairs, it seems that it would be put off once more.

* * *

The Enterprise eased out of warp, coming to a relative standstill at the edge of the planet's atmosphere. Chekov had traced the signal to here, and now he realized that they were about to be confronted with a different obstacle: the planet's entire surface was an ocean.

"Mr. Chekov," Spock said. "Are you entirely sure that this is the correct location?"

"Yes, sir." Though he said it with complete certainty, Chekov couldn't help the blush from spreading across his cheeks.

"While I trust your navigational skills," Spock said, "I assume that we are all able to see what is down there?"

Sulu looked over his shoulder to stare pointedly at Spock.

"Perhaps… there was a storm?" Chekov suggested.

Kirk shook his head and waved Spock back. "Don't be like that, Spock. We'll take a shuttle—who knows, maybe there's an island that only shows up during high tide."

"Your referencing of a fictional work suggests doubt, Captain," Spock said.

Kirk grinned. "And yet I'd kill for an adventure."

* * *

Spock watched over the bridge with a calculating eye while Sulu piloted Uhura and Kirk down in a transport shuttle.

"Ensign Chekov," Spock said, drawing his attention. "Are you capable of establishing a line of communication with the sender of the message?"

* * *

"Anything new on the scanners?" Kirk hovered over Sulu's shoulder, eyeing the display ahead of them.

"Nothing in the last five minutes, sir." Sulu half-wanted to just drive the shuttle into the sea. He couldn't see anything below the surface. Nothing but still, glass-like water.

Uhura punched numbers into her handheld communicator. After each sequence, she frowned. In no time at all, she'd run through every combination she could think of.

"Maybe we're just on the wrong side of the planet," she said to herself.

Kirk kept moving from window to window, checking every angle the ship could offer.

Sulu glanced at the timer on the corner of his dashboard and winced. They'd been out here for almost an hour, and there'd been no sign of any life—nothing they could see from above the surface, that is.

As if plucking the thought from his mind, Kirk said, "The air's breathable. Maybe if we get some suits out…" His voice trailed off as they heard the shuttle's communications system go off. He leaped for the console.

"Captain," Spock's voice came through scratchy and distorted. "We made contact with the inhabitant of this planet. She's agreed to a meeting with you."

"A meeting?" Kirk said. He and Uhura exchanged a look while Sulu kept his eyes trained on the horizon. "That's great—but where is she?"

"She said that her coordinates are '77-21-08.' And I quote:" Spock paused, preparing himself, "'you'll see a great bloody disk rising out of the sea.'"

Keeping his laughter to a minimum, Kirk said, "Excellent work, Spock. We'll call you when we have an update." He ended the connection before Spock could send them an annoying-but-probably-still-useful warning.

Kirk buckled into the co-pilot seat. "Head for those numbers, Sulu."

Sulu took one look at the dash, and changed their course by ninety degrees. He flew the shuttle with the speed of a madman, but the precision of a surgeon. He focused entirely on the coordinates on his dash, as there was nothing outside the shuttle for them to run in to.

In no time at all, Uhura tapped him on the shoulder, pointing out the window.

"_There_," she said.

* * *

Sea water flowed off the launch pad in great rivulets. It creaked as they powered down, the engines whirring to a stop. The launch pad groaned so much that they wondered if it had ever been used.

"We're going out armed?" Sulu asked when Kirk pulled out three phasers from the arms locker.

Kirk nodded as he handed them out. None of them really knew what to expect from this.

They were met by a warm summer breeze as the shuttle's back end folded out. Kirk led Sulu and Uhura down the ramp, all of them having tucked away their weapons.

The landing platform creaked with every step they took. The sea rippled out in slow waves around it. The platform itself looked to have six docking pads. Their shuttle seemed to be the only one to occupy a space in a long time.

Sulu inspected the pad adjacent to their shuttle's. If there had been any scuff marks before, they had long since been smoothed over by the sea.

"Sulu!" Uhura called, pointing to his feet.

The metal surface of the launch pad had begun to shift away from the centre. He jumped up and moved to the unused docking pad.

In the centre, a large hole opened up, the excess metal sliding underneath their feet and out of sight.

Now that the floor was gone, they saw the wide spiral staircase inside.

Kirk held out an arm to caution them back.

Before anyone could make a move towards the stairs, the elongated muzzle of a phaser popped out, followed by its carrier.

* * *

_One hour earlier._

_"__This is Ensign Pavel Chekov of the USS Enterprise, do you copy?" _

She'd listened to the voice repeat that three times before natural thought kicked in—a _ship_. There was a ship near her planet and it was trying to communicate with her!

She'd spilled cereal all over herself in the process of jumping at the console. She barely registered the mushy oat crumbs staining her jumpsuit as she answered the voice.

"Hello, hi, _ahem_, er—" She cleared her throat, fingers gripping the edge of the desk with enough stress-induced strength to crack it. _"Hi there,"_ she winced. "Um, my name's Dillan, who're you?"

The silence on the other end lasted long enough for her to question everything she'd just heard. She fell back into her chair. Had she imagined it all?

"Uh…" the voice seemed hesitant to speak again. "This Ensign Pavel Chekov of the USS Enterprise: we hear you loud and clear." He paused to listen to someone close by—Dillan was certain they were a he.

"I- I hear you too." Her voice cracked on 'too,' letting out a decade of pent-up rage, frustration, and disappointment. "Very clearly. You're _there_. You're really there, oh my god."

"Yes, we are." A different voice this time—much more formal than the last. "This is Commander Spock—am I speaking to the person on the transmission?

Dillan leaned back in her chair, bringing her knees up to her chin. She let out a laugh—half bark, half sob.

"Transmission…" Her right hand twitched. "Yes, I recorded one of those." _Quite a long time ago… _"I guess you—" She laughed again. "You found it, right? Don't see how you could be here otherwise."

_Really here._ She ran a hand through her ponytail. This wasn't a dream, not this one.

"If you _are_ indeed that person," said the new voice—she was also certain it belonged to a male, "We require the coordinates of—"

"-Where I live?" Dillan laughed. "Yeah, I suppose it's a bit odd, seeing nothing from the surface, but having someone tell you there's a whole station down here."

She fumbled around on the console, finally drawing out a note she'd written down years ago. Three very specific numbers.

"My coordinates are 77-21-08. And um—" She'd never actually done this before. "Well, you'll just have to go there and look for a great bloody disk rising outta the sea."

She'd almost said more in her excitement. But on account of not knowing them in the slightest, she'd tried to keep it vague. She'd be able to see them from a mile away. After all, there was nothing else above the surface.

"Do you need me to repeat that?" She tapped her finders, keeping them well away from the 'end transmission' icon.

"No, that was adequate," the voice who wasn't Pavel Chekov said.

When they ended the connection, she fell into her chair. So caught up in the (she presumed) human contact, she hadn't realized how much her hands were shaking. She tucked them under her thighs to stop the tremors.

* * *

In the fifteen minutes it took her security field to detect the shuttle, she debated the many possible problems that had arisen.

Tell them or not tell them? She had a preference for the latter; it posed a less immediate rejection.

Her gait slanted to the right as she went for her rifle. Despite the cordial chat they'd just had, she could hardly trust the ones who came down. The fear had already settled in.

As she tried to slide it on, the jacket sleeve caught on a ridge on her right arm. Dillan swore, tugging at it until the overlapping metal released the sleeve. She wouldn't tell them about her prosthetics just yet; the skin grafts hid them pretty well.

She pulled a hat over her blond hair—now released from its ponytail—and tapped the charge in her rifle.

Then she stepped into the staircase and pressed the button to release the top hatch.

* * *

"Back away from me!" Dillan said, phaser raised at chest level. "And away from your ship," she continued, just noticing it in the corner of her left eye.

The three of them—one woman and two men—complied to each command with expressions of surprise on their faces.

Had they expected her to be smaller? How old had she been when she'd recorded that SOS? Ten or eleven, to be certain; she hadn't listened to it in years. She'd just let it play for no one to hear.

"If you're armed, give them up now." She half-hoped they were and half hoped they weren't. She could use some extra artillery—hers barely functioned.

"We are armed," one of the men in gold said. She focused her target on him as he stepped forward. "But we're just the landing party… Here to… help." He held out a hand, and something else caught Dillan's eye.

"My name's Jim," he said. Dillan stared at the shiny object pinned to his chest.

"You- You're with Starfleet," she said. _The Federation._ The phaser fell to her side. Her stance relaxed, if only enough to show them she wasn't really a threat.

Jim lowered his hands as well. "And you're the girl from the distress call."

"Yeah…" Dillan took off her hat, and they finally saw her face—unobscured for the first time.

Her blue eyes glinted with sadness in the midday sun, her next words barely escaping the scoff that followed:

"You're about ten years late on that one."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter 2! It's so exciting to see people reading this story! Special thanks to **Yuuki no Yuki **and **Guest** for reviewing— I hope you enjoy this next instalment, where we get to learn a bit more about our protagonist.**

Chapter 2: Let's Talk About Death

* * *

"So you've heard of us?" Kirk asked as Dillan lead him, Uhura, and Sulu down the long, spiral staircase. "Starfleet, I mean, and the Federation."

Dillan nodded, stomping down the steps at a stilted pace. "Yep." She scoffed. "The logo is pretty memorable."

Underneath her words, Uhura heard something else. An accent? Or maybe a speech impediment, pushed down so deep only the most trained ear could detect it.

"Is this station a part of Starfleet?" Sulu asked, half-expecting some crazy answer about secret experiments or the like. _What happened here?_ "There's nothing like it on our records…"

"No." Dillan gripped her rifle a bit tighter, causing all three of them to itch for the phasers now displayed clearly at their sides for her to see. "Definitely not Starfleet," She sighed. "Just saw your logo on a couple of messages. Like I said: pretty memorable."

The staircase ended at an airlock, a boot wedged between the door and the frame. Dillan's right side dipped as she descended the final step. She walked to the door, pulled it open with what looked like a great amount of effort, and gestured for them to follow her inside.

Only a small part of the underwater station had been visible from above the surface. Below, there were dozens of cylindrical hallways spiralling off into every direction. Kirk craned his neck around a corner while Dillan had her back turned. Another hallway, with what looked like at least four other offshoots. He turned back to Uhura and Sulu, confirming the suspicion that they all felt like rats in a very confined maze.

Years of fencing made Sulu notice the discrepancy in her gait. Far too much to the right, her head tilting in the same direction, and when he looked down, he saw why.

The three of them fell behind Dillan as she turned a corner.

"Her right leg is shorter than her left," Sulu whispered to Kirk. At the same time, Uhura said, "She's definitely hiding something."

When they caught up to her, Kirk's eyes widened, partly because of how obvious it now was—her right leg was nearly a foot shorter than her left—and partly because of how Dillan stared at them.

"Keep up," she said, stance relaxed, but her eyes alight with barely-contained excitement. "It's a pretty simple pattern once you get to know the place, but there's always the chance of you getting lost."

* * *

They must have passed at least a dozen rooms, each one boarded up beyond reach, windows covered and doors sealed shut with a silver, bubbling metal.

Each hall ended with a ladder which they had to climb down, then walk back the way they'd come, now one level below. Kirk had never seen a switchback design implemented in person before. He'd only even glimpsed stations built like this in blueprints—often in the glossary if a history textbook.

The corridors all twisted together in a design that allowed the architect to build the station in any direction available. At least, that's how the theory went. Most designs in this vein lost steam when it came to the physics-gyroscope-gravitational area of development, and most outstanding projects in this area had been shelved decades ago.

They came to the end of the third hall. This time, Dillan gripped the top rung of the ladder and lowered herself down. When her feet touched the ground, she looked up at then and said, "Best be careful with this one." She walked out of sight, voice wafting back moments later. "It's a bit jagged around the edges."

They realized what she meant when they saw that the ladder was torn off after three rungs, its other half ending in two pieces of torn metal.

"Alright," Jim said once they'd caught up with her for a third time. "You've lead us all the way down here: we trusted you with that."

Leaning against a doorframe, Dillan crossed her arms.

"But we have some questions that need answering." He swallowed as she adjusted the rifle hanging across her back.

She expelled a long breath through her nostrils. "I'm sure you do. And just like I trusted you with those weapons you've been carrying, you'll have to be a bit patient with me." They all looked at each other. "I haven't talked to anyone but myself in a long time."

She pressed a panel in the wall and the door slid open. Pointing inside, she said, "Want something to drink?"

* * *

She'd turned the former security room into a bar. Or she'd turned the bar into a security room. Kirk couldn't understand why: there wasn't anyone else around.

"Consider this my peace offering," Dillan said, plucking a bottle from one of the higher shelves. "Been saving it for someone else on account of… well, I've just never liked the stuff."

Noting the looks on their faces, she tilted her head back. "Oh, I didn't mean for you to start drinking _now_." She laughed as a smile broke over Sulu's face. "That would be ridiculous, and entirely unprofessional."

The four of the sat around the table like a group of old drinking buddies—except one person was a complete mystery, the other three knew each other far too well, and no one felt like drinking.

"The way your station's constructed," Kirk said, leaning forward in his seat. "I've never seen one like it in the Federation."

"They built it out of the rust buckets they came in and a few spare parts. It always feels two steps away from imploding." Dillan had her arms crossed, leaning back to tilt the front two legs of her chair off the floor. "Definitely not anything from your federation."

Noting her use of "your", Kirk looked over the security monitors. They lined one wall from floor to ceiling, completely blank in their watchfulness. A sign of when there'd been enough people to actually warrant a security system, he thought.

"But you're human…" Uhura said.

Kirk hadn't expected her to be the one to assume that.

Dillan drummed the fingers of her right hand along her left forearm. "Pretty much," she said curtly.

The answer made Uhura frown, but she pressed no further. Today was supposed to be a meeting, not an interrogation.

"How did this place come around?" Kirk asked, already speculating answers for himself.

"An offshoot faction of the Federation," Dillan said, running a hand through her hair. "Mom and—my parents were the third generation. Would've made me part of the fourth."

She kept avoiding what they really wanted to know, but for the time being they pressed on the other question.

"This… offshoot," Sulu said. "Why did they want to leave? There couldn't have been much out here to start with."

"You're right about that," Dillan said. "They had nothing—according to what I've read. 'Just a few ships and a will to thrive'—that's what was in the manifesto. Resources, the stations, relationships with low-grade smugglers—all of it had to be build over time. They had to trust in the word of their leader, and all would be well. We'd prevail through anything."

The other three shared uneasy looks over the sudden emergence of this interstellar doctrine.

Then Dillan let the front legs of her chair fall back to the ground with a resounding _bang_. "Of course that all turned out to be a load of shit."

Kirk became eerily aware of the humming metal beast around them. Each puff of steam, adjustment in pressure, change in orientation, came with its own noise, and underneath it all, the muffled cries of a hundred missing souls. Lost, drowned, dead; left behind by a world they once sought to do the same.

"You can ask me what happened now," Dillan said. "I know you want to."

"Uh…" Kirk shifted in his seat, sharing glances with both Sulu and Uhura. He put his hands on the table, placed between Dillan and them. "I don't mean to bring up something so painful—"

"Of course you don't," Dillan said, all mechanics, without a trace of visible emotion. "So just… get it over with." She uncrossed her arms, right hand moving to the table as well. A metallic tapping noise came from where her fingers drummed atop its surface.

"So…" Kirk cleared his throat. "It's obvious that you weren't _always_ the sole inhabitant of this planet."

Something in her face softened. "Well, if you listened to my message, you'd know that there were other stations—twelve, to be exact." She took a deep breath, massaging her temple with her fingertips.

"Take your time," Uhura said, to which Dillan nodded.

"This one was named MIKA. I think the rest of them had four-letter names too, but I can't remember the rest." She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her head to the side.

"I don't know exactly how long the colony was here for before me. Decades, probably. But I was ten when everything happened…"

She abruptly stood up from her chair, making it scrape back against the floor. In two steps, she was at the wall of display screens and typing at one of the raised keyboards—a dated version by its appearence. After a couple seconds, a picture appeared on the screen, and she turned back around to look at them.

"There's no official name for this," she said, gesturing at the screen even while she faced away from it. "No one but me to make one up. So this, uh, _pod_, hit MIKA—this station—one night. Day? Night? Night. We were asleep when it happened, so night for some, I guess. My parents got woken up to check it out—scientists, both of them—and, well… The rest is a bit of a blur."

She returned to her chair, flopping into it with a beat that could have almost been rehearsed.

"Just tell us what you can remember," Sulu said.

"There was no one in the pod," Dillan said, settling back into her chair. "That was odd—obviously. But it came with spare parts and no owner to hoard them so the scrap team salvaged what they could from it and we threw a party."

She shook her head. "But… every single part of that ship was contaminated. A virus we'd never been vaccinated for.

"At first, there were just a few cases—just minor fevers, my mom said. But then…" Her voice peaked. "People started to change.

The station seemed to close in on Kirk. The thought of a virus coating every inch of the walls, every fibre of clothing left unburnt. A scorched earth policy didn't work underwater.

"Like, _lots_ of people. Whole families—every one that had a scrap collector in it, and the doctors too. My mom set up a quarantine for them in the deepest section—enough space for fifty people—but it got to be too much. Too little, too late for them."

She went silent for a moment. The trio had all leaned forward, enraptured by her story.

"What did you mean by 'changing?'" Kirk asked.

Dillan looked up from her lap. "Like they didn't have… minds anymore. No conscience, no heart or thought, or soul just—" she shivered, "Just _hunger_."

This made the three of them lean as far back in their chairs as they could without being noticed.

"The quarantine wasn't enough, of course," she continued. "They broke through it eventually. Tracked their mucus and blood with them all the way up to floor G." She massaged the ball where her right thumb met her hand.

"By then my parents had locked me in our room—stocked enough supplies to last a month. And then they left to take care of the monsters," she said, her voice growing small and child-like.

It was a long minute before Kirk said anything.

"How did they do that?"

"My Mom was a chemist," Dillan said. "She could make a pretty wicked nitrate bomb if she needed to."

Uhura put a hand over her mouth. Sulu turned away from Dillan to the huge panel of displays. The screens worked together to show a pieced-together image of what looked like a shiny metal pea pod split open to reveal its mechanical insides and sharp pinchers. Kirk thought of how very vivid of a blur her story was turning out to be.

"The whole station shook for what felt like a day. It wasn't until later that I realized it wasn't just from the explosion. The other stations… We were all connected in this link—a chain that kept us circling around the planet. I rarely saw anyone else in them—we didn't communicate much. Once they'd finished building the stations and assigned the leaders we stayed where we were.

"But sometimes—once a month, maybe—I'd see another kid through one of the windows. We didn't always connect, but when we did we'd wave to one another. That universal gesture…" she smiled sadly.

Dillan tucked her hands underneath her armpits. A habit gained from a month without proper heat.

"Of course, that all ended when they left me behind. But I cou- I couldn't really be mad at them. They didn't even know I was still alive. _I_ barely even knew"

Dillan wiped under her nose with a crooked finger.

"And when you eventually came out?" Kirk prompted.

"I could only bear to wait a week," Dillan confessed. _She wouldn't have been proud, not following her orders. _"By the time I'd checked every nook in this station, I realized that everyone here was either gone or dead."

"And the virus?" Uhura said, eyes wide with concern.

Dillan shrugged. "If it's still here, it hasn't got me yet."

* * *

By the time their shuttle took off a tic had resurfaced in her right elbow. Watching from the launch pad, Dillan was wound so tight a literal screw could have popped off.

To her surprise, they had actually made an offer. House her, teach her—find any distant relatives she might have hiding out in some far-off colony.

The offer to rescue her—if that was even the right term anymore—was plain and simple: one day for their science officers to search MIKA for anything of interest (as well as check her for any remnant of the virus, she assumed), and she had safe passage aboard their ship.

It was a good deal, Dillan thought, slowly making her way down the spiral staircase. One day to pack up what little she wanted to bring with her. One more day to keep her fabrication going.

She just had to do everything in her power to keep them from figuring out the truth. The frank reality that no one, at least no one who'd stayed here in the past, had come to Aguas willingly.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Welcome back to the story! Thank you to everyone who has favourited/followed since the last update. It's reassuring to know that people read this (and want to read more), and that I'm not alone in shouting into the void!**

**I also realized that I forgot to put a disclaimer in the first chapter, so let me just say, ****_for the record:_**** I do not own the Star Trek characters/universe and I will not profit monetarily in any way by writing this. This is ****_fanfiction_****, which I write purely because I love Star Trek.**

Chapter 3: Orientation is Always Fun

* * *

Dillan sat shock-still while the doctor ran a scanner around her forehead. Every muscle in her body was screaming for her to bolt, to run, to shove him aside and flee to an empty part of her station. This wasn't normal—having another _human being _this close to her wasn't normal.

But she stayed there, palms glued to her thighs, because this was routine—normal for other people. Other people went to Doctors for check-ups. They didn't just slam back a few painkillers and crawl into bed for a week.

On top of that, she had strangers surfing through every available inch of her station. Each second was one closer to them finding out the truth—that this wasn't an offshoot federation colony. MIKA—and her eleven sister stations—had been one, giant, collective prison. And Dillan had lived there her entire life.

The scanner gave off a couple of agitated beeps.

"Got any metal plates up there?" the Doc asked, pulling it away from her forehead.

"Yes, actually," Dillan said.

"Because—oh." He stared her dead in her glassy green eyes.

"You're serious," he said.

She nodded, then arched her eyebrows. "Will that be a problem?"

* * *

Back up on the launch pad, she'd been tempted to ask the same question.

"All I said was that I'm not interested in getting infected by some un-dead death virus," the Doctor said, looking at the ground around them suspiciously.

"I- I swear there's nothing left of it," Dillan stammered, following the path of the Vulcan science officer as he dragged a series of increasingly-odd-looking contraptions down the shuttle ramp. Then, redirecting her attention, she said, "Mr. Sulu, I thought the captain would be returning today, not…" she glanced at the group of science officers crowding her launch pad, "…them." She didn't know 'them.'

"He's got business on the Enterprise," Sulu called to her from inside the shuttle. His head poked out and this time he spoke to everyone as well as her. "I'll be back in a couple hours, so make it snappy. We don't want to stay here any longer than necessary. -No offence," he added to Dillan.

"I—can't take offence to that..." She shook her head.

"You got everything you need packed up?" he asked. "I could take it now if you want."

"All two boxes of it?" she sighed. "They're under the surface. I'll just bring them later."

Once she'd really thought about it, the packing hadn't taken very long. Clothes, tech, and room furnishings would be supplied on the Enterprise. All that left were a few trinkets, some comfort clothing made from old guard uniforms, and a lamp she'd repurposed from a rectangular hall light.

"Alright then," Sulu said, and then he disappeared, leaving Dillan in a situation oddly similar to yesterday.

"So, I guess—" She turned around, only to see the heads of the officers disappearing down the spiral staircase—_her_ spiral staircase. She closed her eyes, then reopened them and followed the group at a loping jog, her right leg clicking with every step.

* * *

The science mutts wasted no time in setting up under the watchful eye of their CO. The person in question made Dillan want to melt into the wall every time he looked her way. She could tell he had a lot of unanswered questions, and was thankful when the Doctor asked if there was a medical area they could go.

"Uh, no, not here," she said.

"No med bay?" he said. "What kind of operation were they running here?"

"Barebones…" she muttered, to which he had looked up sharply, brow furrowed.

Medical _had_ been on the first floor—the one they were on now—but she'd cleared it out after… Well, after what they knew to be the virus, which was all that mattered right now.

So now she sat, in her room, while a certified Doctor scanned her for a virus she'd made up as a cover story.

She could at least be thankful for how dispassionate and unrevealing her room was. All the escape plans and blueprints had been thrown into the sea a few years ago in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, leaving her walls blank but for a mirror and some spare sheets of paper. Those too, she'd eventually stuff in her boxes to be packed away off to whatever dorm she'd been staying in for the next six to eight months.

* * *

"As long as your plates aren't carrying that mutant cannibal virus they should be alright," the Doctor said, lowering his scanner.

"I can assure you I'd have died a long time ago if they were." Dillan tapped the side of her skull. "Incubation period was like… a day, by the end."

He looked up at her, hand reaching into his bag. "You seem to know a lot about it."

Dillan shrugged. "I was there. Things like that tend to scar you when you're young. When you're old too, I guess."

"Hm. I'll keep that in mind." He pulled out his padd and typed out what had shown up on the scanner.

Dillan picked at the nails on her left hand. She needed to clip them before the end of the week, otherwise, someone might notice that the nails on her right didn't grow at all.

Skin grafts could only hide so much. She knew that from the patches of metal she hid on her chest and thighs—and had attempted to hide on her arm.

She looked up as two science officers—currently lacking their CO—walked past the door to her room.

"…just tear down the wall up ahead…" was all she heard. It was all she needed to develop a warm, nervous sweat. What gave them the right to do that? Despite her hatred of this place, she had an extended connection to it.

She sat on the edge of her mattress as the doctor came over. He followed her gaze to outside the hall, listening to their receding footsteps.

"I'm sure they're not going to tear everything down," he said lamely.

Dillan glanced at him, then shrugged. "It's not like I'm going to be here much longer." Sighing, she said, "If there was any time to investigate this place, now's your chance."

He nodded at her realism, and was about to make a note of it when something caught his eye.

Dillan would regret not drawing the sleeves of her jumpsuit back down. Instead, in that moment, you could see most of her upper arm before the white of the t-shirt overlapped her derelict skin grafts.

"What's that?" she heard him say. The Doctor moved closer and put his hand out, meaning to inspect her arm further before she flinched away.

His voice changed tone, like he was talking to a child who had skinned their knee, and wanted to know who the culprit was. Except in this case, Dillan knew the only cause of the long vertical scar on her upper arm was her own foolishness.

Dillan readjusted herself on the bed, facing him more directly.

"Just… something I was trying out," she said. She could only assume he viewed it in a much more negative light.

The Doc lowered his hand. "Do I need to be worried about it?"

"No," Dillan scoffed. "I gave up on that a long time ago."

Not entirely convinced, he nodded and went back to his padd. While he typed—quite noisily, she noticed—Dillan touched the pad of her thumb to each of the fingers on her right hand. Index, middle, ring, pinkie, then back to the start, over and over, until her heart rate slowed.

"I _do_ have to make a note of it," he said, looking up at her. She nodded, barely registering his words.

"This next bit is purely precautionary," he said. Out of the corner of her vision, Dillan saw him take something—another hypo?—out of his bag. "It's the same for anyone we admit onboard—just to take a glance at their medical history. I just need a blood sample for you and we should be done for today."

"Do I get a lollipop afterwards?" She shook her head at the face he gave her. "Hah… Sorry. Just thought I'd ask."

Without thinking—an act she'd seriously regret later—she held out her right arm. Only once he'd rolled up her sleeve and pressed the hypo to the skin grafts there did she freeze.

_Wrongarmwrongarmwrongarm!_ She didn't _have_ any blood in that arm for him to take.

"Well, maybe you could take from—" But she was already too late.

"What in God's—Jesus!" He jumped back, retracting the hypo's claws and taking some of the skin grafts with it. Later, Dillan would look back on it as the most stressed she'd ever seen him.

The grafts applied to her synthetic body parts were 2 centimetres thick in most areas—enough cushion to provide a good cover, while also giving her the barest sense of feeling on her right side. The nerve endings, fake as they were, got the job done.

And now, as Dillan stared at the hole of flesh where the hypo had dug in—as well as the metal underneath—she knew she'd have to invest in a few more long-sleeved t-shirts.

"What did I do!?" he cried, backing away from her with a look of horror on his face.

Dillan got up to console him, to administer the first of _many_ explanations to a concerned crew member. She unzipped the jumpsuit down to her waist and shrugged off both sleeves. She had on a t-shirt underneath. Its sleeves ended just past her shoulder, showing off her arms, one flesh, one metal.

Then Commander Spock walked in.

* * *

She had to admit, the boots were a nice touch. Custom made, with the right one having a sole three times as thick as the left. The long-term damage of walking with a stinted step for so long wouldn't just go away like _that_, Bones had said, but the boots would help her out in the future.

Bones; it was an odd nickname. She had no idea as to its original origins, so assumed it had something to do with him being a doctor. Maybe he had specialized in rheumatology before deciding to go to space?

The med bay aboard the Enterprise was certainly a step up from her own bedroom. Functioning biobeds that curled around a central core, complete with bio-fields and displays that could tell you everything about someone just by placing their hand on it.

Dillan was tempted to try that one out, but didn't, on account of what had happened with Doctor McCoy. Or Bones, as he'd told her to call him after the episode.

It had taken about a minute to calm him down, all the while with that blasted Commander Spock standing in the door, just… staring.

Once he'd grasped the situation, colour returning to his face, Bones had further inspected her right arm. No matter how much Dillan protested—she was alright, she could barely feel anything there—he wouldn't sit still until he was _absolutely_ certain nothing was amiss.

The next time she looked back at the door, the Commander was gone.

Dillan wished she'd been the one to tell the Captain.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Bones asked. Dillan blinked, then scooted forward on her bed.

"Pretty good," she said. "Just, you know, adjusting to the change in atmos. No weird reactions to the shots you gave me," she chuckled, "Yet."

Bones shook his head, walking around the edge of her biosphere. Dillan turned her head, then crept back up her bed to follow him.

"What now?" she asked once he'd gotten to the other side.

"I'm dialling down the restrictions on your hamster wheel," he said, tapping at a display on the other sided. "_And_," he added, "You have some visitors."

"Cool." She bounced on the bed, feet dangling over the edge. "Is it Sulu? Uhura?" They'd both come down to pick her up that morning, and before Dillan had been escorted to med bay, she'd asked if they would visit her during her week-long stay.

"Uh, no. Not exactly."

"_Oh_."

The Captain seemed to be smiling, while his Commander was most certainly _not_. _One out of two—not bad._ She waved as they walked up to the biosphere that surrounded her bed. "Hey there." _Hey there?!_

Bones suppressed a smirk. "I'll be in my office."

Dillan wanted to cry out for him to stay—she needed someone on her side.

"How's he been treating you?" Kirk asked.

Dillan nodded. "Good. You know, only _six_ hypos a day of vaccines I wasn't given as a child. Could be worse." A lot worse, she knew.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said. His smile hardened, and Dillan had a feeling of what was coming next.

"Okay, okay—I know I left out the part about being part machine. That wasn't cool of me—and honestly, quite important. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath. "But to be frank, you also didn't tell me you were the _captain_ and I think that also counts as leaving something out, so maybe we're even?" She finished the sentence on a high-pitched note, eyebrows well above their usual spot.

Dillan glanced behind them to see Bones definitely-not-listening from inside his office.

Kirk raised his hands. "Whoa. That's… great to hear you say, but not at all what we're here for." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But _on_ that note, it really would've been better if you'd just told us. Definitely would've given Bones one less near-heart-attack for this week."

Dillan grimaced. "That's true."

"For now, just the necessary medical staff and the CO's will know of your… let's call them prosthetics," Kirk said. "You can tell anyone else you want to know at your own pace."

She straightened up a little. "Thank you."

"As for the real reason we were here…" Kirk gestured to the man beside him. "This is Commander Spock."

Dillan nodded, regarding his eyebrows cooly.

"He'll be administrating your placement tests."

_Oh. Lovely._ Dillan got uncomfortable as the Commander pulled up a chair and sat down, his nose just inches from the biosphere that surrounded her bed.

"Afternoon," Dillan said. He'd barely spoken to her on Aguas, all curt nods and furrowed eyebrows.

"Commander Spock is one of our most senior officers," Kirk said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Go easy on him," he said, then left the med bay.

Spock had a padd out and had brought up a holographic display before Dillan could get one word in. "In your previous interview with Doctor McCoy, you claimed to have experience in the field of engineering," he said.

Dillan moved her shoulders back and her chin forward. "I did say that. You don't survive on a debilitating station for ten years without getting really good at fixing it." _And predicting what'll go wrong._

"Hm." He tapped something on the screen that Dillan wished she could see. "This exam is meant to determine a promising cadet's area of proposed expertise. Each question should be answered promptly and as accurately as capable—do you understand?"

"So it's like a personality test?" she joked. She stopped laughing the moment he looked up from the padd.

"On the contrary, it provides an accurate, in-depth look at one's aptitude for the various stations on this ship. It doesn't rely on aspects as fickle as one's personality. Is that understood?"

She nodded weakly. "Yes, sir…" She had a feeling that while he said 'one', he meant 'your.'

…

The bar was empty, but on a special favor, Kirk had a cooler of drinks set out for his chief of staff. A pitcher of water too, if Spock needed it.

Drinking wasn't common at most Starfleet command meetings—nor the use of a bar—but considering they were light years away from the nearest federation outpost, he'd decided to get a little creative.

Spock arrived fifteen minutes early, looked at the minibar, and went straight to his chair without taking anything.

He accepted the glass of water Kirk offered a moment later.

Scotty and Bones came in right on time, already well into a conversation. Their hands moved in sharp gestures, animating the various points they made.

For once, Bones declined a drink.

"I've got a patient to keep an eye on tonight," he said. Reaching for the water pitcher, he nudged his chair out from under the table.

"Right, and how is our resident _stowaway_?" Scotty joked, filling a tumbler with some scotch.

Bones grimaced. "Fine, if it weren't for the allergic reaction she had to the chlorax vaccine. Hives…" he said, gesturing. "All over her face."

"Ach," Scotty hissed through his teeth.

"She's fine now, though," Bones said. "On some anti-allergens and out like a light."

Kirk stepped in and took a seat at the edge of the circle. Scotty and Bones stopped talking and looked to him.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to officially start this meeting," he said.

Spock had his padd out with the minutes from the last meeting. He cleared his throat and read them to the group.

"Last week's agenda went as follows: the broken pipe in engineering, sample recovery from the gas giant in system 3691 with the, I quote, 'insane lightning storms', the data backup passed without any alarms, and the escape pods Ensign Andrews accidentally jettisoned were quickly recovered on the edge of that same system."

Kirk suppressed a smile. The poor ensign had received the lashing of a lifetime from her superior officer—namely, the one in red sitting just across from him.

Spock finished on, "Any other notes relate solely to the repairs in engineering, which I trust Mr. Scott has had the time to fix completely."

Scotty nodded. "Aye, once we had a day when we weren't busy _moving_," he shot a glare at Kirk, who shook his head, "We were able to get things done."

Spock closed the minutes from the previous week and opened a new document on his padd.

Kirk clapped his hands together. "If that's all well and good, I'd like to address the figurative elephant in the room. Our crew has gone up in population—and it isn't because someone had a baby this time."

"I haven't met this one yet," Scotty said. "Is it true she has a prosthetic arm?"

Bones pointed at him. "And leg."

"-And several other body parts," Spock interrupted. "Captain, I must address that keeping her aboard any longer is a potential risk to anyone she encounters. We do not know who she really—"

"Spock," Kirk said, holding up a hand. "We'll get there. The point is, we came across a distress call, and we acted on it—as is our job. Now, did you find anything unusual on her station?"

"As she told you," Spock said, "There weren't any remnants to be found—a fact which concerns me as viruses are known to have dormancy periods that can span years. Doctor McCoy will attest to this."

"Hey now." Bones straightened up in his seat. "I said it was highly unlikely to be true—which doesn't mean impossible, just," he admitted, "not that plausible. -But based on your findings, I have to assume that the contaminated areas were done away by the bomb Dillan says her mother detonated. And if her accounts are correct, if she were infected, she would be long dead."

Spock looked from Bones to Kirk. "I can confirm that there are remnants of an explosion in the lowest existing areas of the station."

"Really," Kirk said.

Spock nodded slowly. "Yes. A… highly-skilled chemist set off an explosive device there. As for their true reasons behind doing that, if you were to allow me to mind-meld—"

"_No_," Kirk said, Bones simultaneously crying out, "You can't be serious!"

Kirk held up a hand, gesturing for Bones to sit back down. "Spock," he said. "We've been through this already. Absolutely not: we're taking her at her word."

Scotty poured himself another drink. Kirk sighed, watching Bones get back in his chair, anything but settled-down.

"How is she adjusting, otherwise?" he asked. "Any homesickness? Other things we need to be worried about?"

"She's a bit jumpy," Bones said, "But aside from that and the reaction, it's gone smoothly so far."

Kirk nodded. "So… as her doctor, what would you recommend our next steps be?"

"Not dumping her off at the nearest starbase, for starters," Bones said, shooting a very pointed glare in Spock's direction.

"_Wow_," Scotty whispered.

"Noted. And Spock, how did the test go?" Kirk asked.

Spock pulled up the document on his padd. After glancing over them, he said, "Her results are… better than I could have predicted. She has a particular aptitude for mechanics and repairs." He took a breath, preparing himself. "She also recited the entirety of the Wylo doctrine on life support from memory."

Bones leaned forward in his seat. "God, man, are you _impressed_?"

"Under different circumstances, I might be," Spock said.

"What circumstances?" Scotty said. "We're all still on the ship!"

Spock turned to Kirk. "Captain, she has no identification. No official documents of any kind to verify her story."

Bones searched for a rebuttal. "Well, they must've been destroyed in the explosion, or deleted from the station's records somehow. We don't even know if her colony _believed _in that sort of thing," he scoffed at the audacity his own argument. "Keeping records, that is."

"Has she told you any of that?" Spock asked, "Or are they simply your own, biased assumptions?"

"All right!" Kirk jumped up, effectively stopping Bones from going after Spock. Bones rubbed his chin with a finger and turned away, just letting Kirk glimpse the annoyed expression on his face.

Kirk thought to himself for a second, keeping an eye on Bones at a distance.

"Here, how about this:" he said, "We're headed to Somerdale in a month, anyways. She can apply for refugee status there—and we can try and contact any out-standing family members."

"And as for a home?" Bones asked, "She has nothing."

Kirk pointed at him. "I hear you." He looked to Spock. "You said she placed in engineering on the aptitude test, correct?"

Spock nodded. "Affirmative."

Kirk turned his gaze to Scotty. Bones and Spock followed suit, for once, united in an effort.

Scotty crossed his arms. "Oh, _I_ see. I barely get one word in in regards to the repair job my crew did—quite fantastically, I might add—and now you want to-"

"Give you another competent worker?" Kirk suggested.

"One that _I'll_ have to _train!_" Scotty protested.

Kirk gave him his signature, pleading look.

Scotty waved him off. "Aye, alright—but you'll have hell to pay if she doesn't turn out—and you too!" He pointed to Spock and Bones, one who smiled, the other going back to his padd.

* * *

Dillan was met with a blast of mist as she stepped out of the turbolift. The man hosing down the bulkhead gave her an apologetic look and moved aside so she could walk through.

Compared to the pristine shine of the deck she'd just left, the engineering sector was a stark contrast. It wasn't dirty, per say, just… unkempt.

She'd left med bay the day before, moving into a small one-bedroom apartment on the other side of the ship. Now she had a meeting to get to in less than ten minutes, and no idea where to go.

The engineering decks were a swirling mess of mist, machinery, and masked crew—she wouldn't even be able to identify who she was supposed to meet.

With three minutes left before she was expected, Dillan began to wonder if she was just walking in circles. The area she was in got eerily quiet as she turned in a slow circle, trying to get a sense of her surroundings. All she could really see were the hulking forms of the warp core, only identifiable through the fog by their signature glow and the abundance of 'hazardous materials' symbols.

From behind her, Dillan heard the sound of footsteps. She whirled around in time to see a small person with a padd—held like a supervisor would—walk up to her.

She stood awkwardly in the centre of the walkway, trying not to touch anything for fear of somehow ruining it.

"Uh, hi?" she said, hand raised mid-wave. "I'm the new… girl..."

The supervisor nodded, and through the fog she was able to focus on the sharp brown ridges that made up their face and hands. A sharp chirp came from the back of their throat, and they gestured for her to follow them.

Before Dillan could even get her bearings, they'd turned on their heel and started back the way they'd come.

They walked through the maze of fog and machinery with an alarming confidence. Dillan had difficulty staying on their tail, as she was more likely to walk into a pillar than make the right turn.

Eventually, she began to hear the voices of other crew resurface around them. Apparently she'd wandered far enough off the beaten path to find some privacy in the confines of this ship.

The supervisor stopped abruptly, and Dillan followed suit. Unsure if she was meant to salute or simply stand at attention, she resolved to straighten her spine and place her hands behind her back.

The supervisor gave out another chirp. If she was interpreting this, Dillan would've thought this one sounded more agitated.

"What is it?" A voice called from above them. Seemingly coming from nowhere, it gave her quite the start.

The supervisor chirped again, repeating their last, if she had to guess.

"Ach!" The voice called, closer this time, "Well why didn't you just say so!"

Dillan looked to the supervisor, who shook their head. The both looked up to a pair of blinking lights coming from the same direction as the voice.

From out of the fog, a man in a red uniform descended on a maintenance lift. Dillan raised a hand in greeting, but stepped back when she saw the gas mask on his face.

"Should I be wearing one of those?" she asked as Head Engineer Scott got down to their level.

He stepped off the lift, looking back up at where he'd been doing repairs, then to her.

"No, you should be alright," he said, face scrunched-up in a way that didn't lead her to believe him.

The supervisor spoke, gesturing between him and Dillan.

His eyes widened. "Ahh, that's right. You're the new one." He eyes went from her face to her arm.

Dillan frowned, crossing one over the other. "Yes, I am… reporting for duty, sir."

Noticing her uncomfortable stance, he shook his head. "Ach, I'm sorry. Ye know, an engineer like myself can't help but stare when someone has such…" he leaned closer, but still did his best to keep a respectable distance, "_accurate_ prosthetics."

He held out his hand. "Call me Scotty."

"Dillan—or, Chasidy, I guess. Whatever works for your protocol." She kept the handshake brief, noting how his eyes flicked down to her joints.

He smiled, "I see you've been spending some time around our Commander."

She grimaced. "Is it that obvious?"

The supervisor spoke a singular, sharp word.

Dillan looked between the two of them. "Was that a yes?"

Scotty laughed, then turned towards one of the various walkways, gesturing for her to follow him. "I think you'll fit right in here."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Welcome to chapter 4! This one includes the (I'm sure) much-awaited meeting of one blond-haired Russian officer. Thank you to everyone who's favourited/followed since the last update. Even if you're just reading this story: I see and appreciate you.**

Chapter 4: Meet to Nice You

* * *

Dillan was beat tired, but she'd never been happier to wake up. Instead of worrying about which airlock was about to bust in, all her work concerned was cleaning floors and shining bulkheads.

Engineering may have been a sweaty, steam-filled place with a never-ending work flow, but she'd never felt more relaxed.

Her room was smaller than before—being a third-class crewman—but she had privacy that those with roommates didn't and a refresher whose temperature refrained from dipping into the negatives on every other use.

She had a red shirt for every day of the week. And, completely doubting her ability to run in a skirt, she'd requested pants.

There _were_ the annoying factors of her synthetic arm and leg. But the pants and custom boots made up for it, along with the long sleeves of her uniform.

So far, her other secret had stayed safe. Only her and a station named MIKA would ever know it.

Dillan blinked to find herself in Caf B, the eating area on deck six. She had a new schedule now—mornings and evenings were practically irrelevant in space. She just followed whatever shifts she was given.

She noticed Sulu standing by the replicator. As she got closer to him, Dillan saw the frustrated expression on his face. She raised her hand in greeting. He looked up; his features softened.

"Hey, what's up?" She'd read the expression in a dozen digital novels, but had never tried it until then.

Sulu gestured at the compartment set into the wall. "The replicator's just acting up again. "I commed a friend: he should be here soon to fix it."

She'd been really looking forward to a hot meal. "Let me try," Dillan said. She tucked her comm into her waistband. Hands freed, she pointed to a section of the wall. "Is this the right panel?"

Sulu nodded, then watched as she began to pry at it with her fingers.

"I can hel-" he started, then stepped back as she grit her teeth and dug the nails of her right hand into the crack in the wall.

Dillan locked her elbows, then gave it one heavy pull. She tried a second time—with perhaps a little more force than necessary—and the panel slowly curled away from the wall, letting out a shrill metal-on-metal screech. They both winced.

"Whoops," Dillan said, then busied herself with the inner-workings of the replicator.

Sulu looked over her shoulder at the insides of the wall to see a collection of circuitry and multicoloured wires.

"Oh, looks like one of these wires got twisted around a pipe." She pulled her arm out and grabbed something from her pocket.

"Do you need me to get you a—oh, you already have one," said Sulu.

"Always prepared," Dillan said while she pulled the rubber glove over her hand.. Some things never changed.

After some tweaking and the addition of a twist-tie she pulled out of her ponytail, Dillan fit the panel back in place. In a few seconds, the replicator began to whirr happily, signalling that it was fully-functional once more.

Sulu got his food and they both walked to a table.

"What about your guy?" Dillan asked.

"Right." Sulu pulled out his comms unit. "I'll tell him not to come."

"And I should probably put in a work order on this," Dillan said. She sent a quick message to Starling, one of Scotty's lieutenants.

Noting Sulu's stare, she added, "They can't trust me with _officially_ repairing things just yet. Someone will come down with a kit later." She sighed. "I mean, janitor duty isn't so bad: just a little boring at times."

Sulu nodded after taking a sip of his drink. "So, besides that, are you settling in alright?"

Dillan nodded eagerly. He had no idea. "Absolutely. I know it's only been a week, but I love it here!" She surveyed the cafeteria. "It's so clean, and I don't have to worry about things breaking all the time."

Sulu cocked his head. "Did you have trouble keeping up with all the repairs on your old station?"

Dillan looked up at the word 'your.' "Well, after the beginning, things ran pretty smooth." She inhaled, one finger tapping her drink cup in a steady beat. "There were only a couple times later when… when it got really difficult."

A couple people walked by. She stared at them intently until they'd retreated out of earshot.

"You know," Sulu said, "I had some weird thing going on with my helm display's frequency reader earlier today."

"You need someone to fix it?" Dillan looked ecstatic at the prospect of someone needing her skills. But then her smiled turned down. "Helm… that's on the bridge, right?"

Sulu nodded, setting down his wrap.

"There's so many people there that I don't know." Taking a sip of water, she gestured around them. "There's so many people _here—_I'm not used to it yet!"

Presently, there were three other crew members in the caf.

Sulu looked to where she was pointing, concern written all over his face. "There wouldn't happen to be a particular person you're trying to avoid, would there?"

It definitely wasn't the commander. Nope, definitely not that commander with his freaky bangs and frightening eyebrows. Definitely not the one with all the questions—the one who probably had the greatest chance of figuring out the truth about Aguas. Nope. Not him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Dillan.

Sulu shook his head. She ignored him, choosing to take short, deliberate sips from her cup.

He looked at her arm, noticing how her right hand struggled to reach around the adult-sized coffee cup. Her uniform fit her well enough, but had a sleeve that was too long on her right arm. She compensated by pushing them both up past her elbow. Save for the difference in size, her hands looked exactly the same. At least from this distance, he couldn't see the tiny rivets on each of her knuckles, or how the skin had been purposefully shaded to give the impression of circulating blood and heat. From this distance, Sulu wouldn't be able to tell if he didn't already know it.

Dillan looked to where his eyes pointed. Realizing what it was he saw, she clasped her left hand over her right.

"I think it's rude to stare" she said, barely hiding the quiver in her voice.

"Mccoy mentioned it when we were flying back to the ship," Sulu said.

"Ah." Dillan sniffed. "And did he also mention that I, uh-"

"He did." Sulu's face showed neither anger nor pity. He waited for her response.

Dillan played with a strand of hair she'd pulled from her ponytail. "I don't want to overstep my boundaries—I know my place here. But I just… I'm already _new_. I don't need there to be something _else_ people think of when they see me, you know?"

With the skin grafts she had, Dillan could hide it for as long as she kept her distance. The Captain knew, Command knew; so did her doctor and Sulu. She could handle that.

"I know what you mean," he said.

"Thanks, Sulu." She still wasn't sure on whether or not to include the 'Mister.' Was it okay to not do that because they were talking alone? Would she be required to add the prefix when in the presence of other superiors? The rules of this place confounded her to no end.

* * *

A buzzing noise came from the hand-held communicator. It continued to buzz, rattling around on the transporter pad, until its owner picked up.

"Hello? -Er, Dillan here?" The speaker winced, not knowing if she was supposed to use her last name rather than her first. Next time, she decided. Next time she would get it right.

A few sharp growls were all she needed to hear to know who was on the other side.

"Yes, Keenser," she sighed, "I'm nearly done cleaning the transporter room." She looked around at the six glowing circles. "I only have, like, two more pads to go."

This time, he spoke more urgently.

"What?!" She squeaked, nearly knocking over the bottle of cleaner. "I thought you said 1300 hours!"

She left the comm open while he continued to bark. Dillan scrubbed frantically, back and forth around the transparisteel surface, knowing she had just a few minutes before the room would be open for use.

Keenser ended the call with a final satisfactory bark. Dillan snapped the comm shut, tucking it in her back pocket. She unfolded her legs, grabbing the rag and cleaning fluid and leapt off the platform just as the main door swished open.

"Chasidy." Lincoln, the residing transport tech, nodded to her. "Cutting it a little close? The landing party's due in five."

"Yes, Ma'am—I mean, no!" Dillan resisted the urge to salute her. It always seemed to come off rude, even when she never meant it to be. "The transporter has been cleaned and is ready to go."

"Spit-shined to the max, I expect?" Lincoln asked, a faux-serious glint in her eye.

"What? Spit? No, I used the cleaner from the janitorial closet…" Dillan pointed her thumb to the bottle slung into the waistband of her pants. "Spit would be _terrible_ to use, I don't know why-"

"Oh, it was a joke, Chasidy." Lincoln clapped her on the shoulder. "Christ, you sound like an android with that sense of humour." She shook her head. "You're off the hook, Cadet: I'll take it from here."

Eyes still wide from the 'android' comment, Dillan nodded silently.

Over the past two weeks, she'd been assigned to "clean places that rarely are," as Mr. Scott had put it. This included the translator disks (fifteen feet high, she'd had to wear her own anti-grav boots), the entire cell block (empty, for the time being), and most recently: the heavily-used transporter room.

"Commander Spock," Lincoln said. She made eye contact with Dillan, motioning for her to make a swift exit. "The transporter is primed for you and your party's descent."

Dillan tried to make herself as small as possible; nevertheless, his gaze latched onto her.

Spock stared as she slowly inched her way to the door. Dillan kept her back pressed to the wall until she reached a space where it wasn't, then fled to the corridor outside.

She had a few minutes to get back to engineering, so she took a detour towards the observation deck.

Dillan gazed through the ten inches of transparisteel, enraptured by the planet the Enterprise was orbiting. Gaseous clouds shielded the surface from outsiders. The transporter had been going through some rigorous re-calibrating so that it would be able to beam the party to the surface without incident. Dillan's cleaning had served as part of the final check.

The clouds swirled in a constantly shifting pattern of orange and yellow. Dillan was hard-pressed to tear her eyes away from the sight. It was the first planet she'd ever seen aside from Aguas.

* * *

Drink cup in one hand, padd in the other, Dillan walked back from the cafeteria to her workstation.

Up ahead, she saw a group of engineers. They clung together like mold spores. She couldn't see a way through the grouping that didn't involve starting some sort of conversation. She'd bet the few measly credits she had to her name that it would begin with something like, _"Hey, aren't you that new girl…?"_

A last-second decision had Dillan turning right at the soonest opportunity. She jogged down the newfound pathway, only pausing to listen for their voices. As they got quieter, her heart rate returned to normal. She sighed, then kept walking. The corridor wasn't very wide, but she could see far ahead enough to where it intersected with a different main hallway.

A few steps later, and she nearly tripped over a pair of legs sticking out of the wall.

"Gaah!" She jumped back, looking for the rest of the body. She soon realized that it was lying on its back, half-inserted into a space in the wall. The person seemed to be working on something in the inside. If Dillan was careful, she'd be able to get around them without disturbing-

"Ensign Andrews? Is that you?" A voice called out from the hole in the wall.

Dillan stepped back as the feet twisted around, their owner re-orientating himself. She began to say something, trying to rectify the situation, but they didn't hear her.

"Could you please pass me the socket wrench?" A hand appeared, waiting for her to pass it the instrument.

Dillan looked around for the aforementioned tool. After an agonizing two seconds, she spotted an open kit between two beams. A moment of rifling through it produced the wrench in question.

She pressed it into the waiting palm, hoping that was all he needed. She stepped over the feet, only to be called for again.

"If you could take the driver off my hands, Ensign." The hand was there again, this time holding out a different tool.

Dillan sighed, set down her drink and padd, and took it from him. Whoever this 'Ensign Andrews' was, it looked like they had disappeared. Dillan waited, somewhat nervous as the clock ticked down, for the man to finish the repairs, occasionally exchanging the tools he needed.

The beams supporting the wall above them creaked a final few times as he finished checking them.

"There we are!" he said, sliding out of the wall, handing off the scanner to who he _thought_ had been Ensign Andrews.

Looking away, Dillan took the scanner from him and placed it in its compartment. Then she closed the toolbox's lid and slid it over to him. He had blond hair and wore a red uniform, like her, only with a different rank on the shoulder.

"You," he said, "Are not Ensign Andrews."

Dillan laughed. Her nervousness seemed to balance out his confusion. "No, I'm not. I actually have no idea who that is."

The young man looked up and down the corridor, then shook his head. "You are sure you did not see someone else around here?"

"Nope, sorry." Dillan shrugged. "I wouldn't even know who to look for."

"Yes, right, of course." He nodded, red creeping up past the collar of his uniform. He stuck out his hand. "Thank you for assisting me. I am Pavel Chekov** — **officer," he added, as an afterthought.

Dillan picked up her padd, shifting it under her arm. She took his hand and shook it. "Uh, Dillan Chasidy, enlisted crewwoman? -And it's no problem, I was just passing by."

"Passing by? This is a maintenance route." He spotted her drink, still sitting on the floor, and picked it up.

She grimaced sheepishly as she took it from him. "There were, well, there were people that way." Dillan was relieved that he hadn't caught on to her 'enlisted crewman' status. He might've been the first one not to bring it up.

Chekov frowned. "Were they being rude to you?"

"No, no, not at all." Dillan shook her head. "This way just seemed quicker, than, you know, _navigating _around them." There were more people on this ship than she'd ever seen in one place.

"Ah," he nodded. "Well, you know, I am actually navigator of this ship." He hoisted the tool kit onto his shoulder, trying not to show how much it immediate pain it caused him to carry it that way. They walked down the corridor.

"Really?" Dillan said. "Shouldn't you be on the bridge, then?"

He shrugged, "It is my off-shift. I was simply showing the Ensign here before you how to open the beam's panel." Gesturing back to where they'd just been, he paused.

Dillan half-suppressed the smile cracking apart her mouth. "You mean the beam panel you didn't close?"

She looked away as his face flushed a light pink. "Yes, it would be that same one."

"Officer Chekov!" a cheery voice belonging to a young, dark-skinned woman broke the silence. Dressed in red, like the two of them, she ran into the maintenance hallway from the way Dillan had come in. However, unlike the two of them, her taller frame had her bending forward to avoid the sloping beams. "I found the list! …Is everything alright?" She looked at the both of them, genuinely concerned. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dillan stepped aside so Chekov could scoot past her, toolkit in tow.

"No," he sighed, "Let me just show you how to put the panel back on… again." He caught Dillan's eye, his own brightening despite the lackluster lighting in the corridor. "Good luck on your journey, Crewman Chasidy."

Dillan smiled and waved awkwardly at them, still juggling her drink cup and padd.

Turning around, she continued down the corridor, knowing full well she'd have to report her lateness. Dillan quickened her pace, ignoring the jolt every time her shortened leg hit the ground, and avoiding Ensign Andrews' lingering comment of, _"Chasidy… Hey, aren't you that new girl?"_

* * *

_Recipient: Federation Database/Information Centre_

_Subject: Information Request—Aguas ID and Alka Project_

_Greetings,_

_As I have reported in my last three recorded logs, the Enterprise rescued a stranded civilian on the planet _Aguas_ exactly twenty-seven days prior. The civilian has been unofficially recruited into the ship's crew and from now on will be referred to as 'the crewman.' _

_As little is known about the crewman and her station—other than what she has told us, which I believe is highly subjective at the most optimal of times—I'd hoped to gain some objective knowledge on both 'Aguas' and the 'Alka Project.' I feel compelled to mention that this message is the second of its kind. In regards to the first of which: I received no response._

_Any data regarding both subjects mentioned above and any concerning the crewman would be appreciated on my part. As stated before, this prospective information would only be acquired and used in serving the best interests of the Enterprise and her crew. If there are any developments pertaining to my request, please know that the Enterprise will be stopping at _Somerdale _(ID: 34k71.2) to resupply in two weeks time. If you wish to convene in person, please notify me as soon as possible._

_Sincerely,_

_Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise_

* * *

**_Scholar of Imagination: _**_Thank you so much for leaving a review :D I'm so happy that you're enjoying the story/building mystery, and I hope this chapter added to it for you! As for the engineering supervisor at the end of last chapter I actually meant for that to be Keenser, so that's my bad for not being clear enough with it. Thanks again for reading/reviewing!_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reading this :D I love that this story has managed to gather a small group of followers! **

Chapter 5: Somerdale Rounds

* * *

"This way, this way!" The lieutenant motioned toward both of the exits. But no matter what he seemed to do or say, people got confused and tried to bottle-neck it through just one.

"No—you can use the one over here as well, okay? Alright? Good."

Dillan was on her own for once, and had never felt more claustrophobic. People jostled against her from every direction as the crew of the Enterprise attempted to leave the ship. Her only hope was embodied in the wide, open space up ahead.

Somerdale, sleek and green, was the farthest Starfleet outpost short of the neutral zone, and also where the Enterprise was currently docked.

She winced as someone grabbed onto her arm. It did stop them from tripping, but it also told them exactly how un-human she was. Dillan shook off the wide-eyed officer and pushed further into the crowd.

When, the alarm sounded, she was almost relieved—until she realized who was the cause of it.

"Alright, who's not supposed to leave?" The lieutenant put a stop to the mass exit. Everyone groaned.

"Identification! Show me your ID, or else you're stuck on the ship for the week!" At his hurried request, people began to pull up their citizenship cards. Meanwhile, Dillan tried to make herself as small as possible—preferably, if she was able to: completely invisible.

"You there! Are you trying to hold up the line?" The lieutenant seemed to be in denial, as this was anything _but_ an organized line.

Dillan squeaked and tried to hide behind a fellow red shirt, but the Orion simply shook her off with an indifferent grunt. She was about to make a run for it—which would undoubtedly end in failure and/or humiliation—when someone else arrived on the scene.

"What's going on? Why's everyone stopped moving?"

The lieutenant straightened up. "C- Captain Kirk! I thought you'd already disembarked."

Kirk flashed his winning smile at the surly lieutenant. "Oh, but I thought I'd check on how the crew was doing. At ease, lieutenant." He scanned the crowd, searching for one person in particular. When they made eye contact, Dillan's eyes widened.

"Crewman Chasidy!" he said, beaming, and pulled her from the suffocating throngs. "Walk with me, please."

Dillan avoided the gazes of everyone else while he led her down the gangplank, through the automatic airlock, and into one of Somerdale's many docking bays.

"Thanks," she breathed once they were clear of the crowd. "I mean, thanks, Captain. Thank you, Captain."

He nodded, a curious smile on his face. "You can ditch the formalities now that we're here. For the next few days, I'm just Kirk, and you're just Chasidy—or Dillan," he added. "Whichever you prefer."

"Okay…" Dillan looked back to where dozens of crewmembers were streaming out of the ship. "What was that about back there? Am I not supposed to be off the ship?"

"No, no." Kirk shook his head and waved it off. "Just the stingy security protocols of this place. It's so new, they're still wondering if it'll hold."

Dillan laughed. "That was a joke, right?" But the more she thought about it, the less inviting the glass dome looked. At least on Aguas there was a surface you could swim to.

"Alright, this way." Kirk guided her to a path through a small park. "You filled out the application, right?"

Dillan turned her head as they passed a woman pushing some kind of cart towards a bench. Everything around them was green—she'd never seen so much of the colour in all her life.

"What? Oh yeah, I had to leave a few spaces blank, but I got most of it done." She turned in a slow circle as they walked, taking in all the greenery, the smell of the ground, the feel of the air. It may have been artificial, but it was real enough for her. "When exactly is my interview?"

Glancing back at her, Kirk sped up his pace. "In about five minutes!" They parted ways at a fork between two buildings. After he directed Dillan towards the shorter building on the left, Kirk mentioned something about a party and went off to the right.

A map on Dillan's padd pin-pointed the exact floor and room number for her. Glancing up at the ten stories of concrete and glass, she entered the building.

The walls of the registration building were a dark blue, like the science uniforms aboard the Enterprise. Dillan had her red on, as her soon-to-be-day clothes had yet to be replicated.

Up ahead, she heard voices. Multiple people rounded the corner. After briefly considering the option of hiding in the nearest closet, Dillan chose to stand her ground against the oncoming wave.

The three crew members walked towards her, chatting up a storm about some birthday party that was supposed to take place later that day. Once she recognized the one in the middle, Dillan realized they were from the Enterprise.

Fluffy blond hair that twisted into a curl above his brow; blue eyes that she could drown in; and long, unstilted legs that carried him towards her—oh god, he was coming her way.

Chekov's eyes widened as he realized who had frozen in the middle of the corridor.

Dillan wasn't dumb enough to try and hide behind her padd. It wouldn't provide _nearly_ enough cover. It would also make her look silly.

He cracked a smile as she waved at him.

"Go ahead," he said to the others. "I will catch you in the bar."

They moved on with confused looks, but few complaints.

"Hey," said Dillan. She gestured at him while trying to wave at the same time. "New shirt?"

She froze. New shirt? What was that? New shirt!? Was she trying to be weird or was she just born that way? _New shirt…_

"Oh, yes." Chekov looked down at his gold uniform. "This is what I wear when I am at the helm."

"Ooh." Dillan nodded rapidly. "I see." _Yeah, you do._

"So, where are you headed?" he asked.

"Oh, uh," Dillan pointed down the hall. "To an interview…" She scratched the back of her head, skewing her ponytail in the process. "For my federation… citizenship…"

"That is wonderful!" Chekov said. Dillan jumped at the sudden burst of energy. "Once you have ID you can come to the party!"

"Yes, I have… I've been hearing quite a lot about it," she said. She recalled catching pieces of conversation here and there about the legendary hangovers it brought on. "It's _your_ birthday, right?"

"Yes—well, technically, it is next week, but we are celebrating now because…" he gestured to the station outside.

Dillan nodded. "Right, there must be more to do here than on the ship." She hoped that hadn't sounded as bad as she thought it did.

"-And many more drinks as well," he said.

Dillan laughed. Of course that would factor into it.

"Ah!" Chekov brightened up. "You should come as well!"

Holding her hands up, Dillan shook her head. "Oh no… I'm so new—"

"Nonsense!" He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "It is my party, so you are completely welcome!"

Ducking under the hand on her shoulder, Dillan said, "I suppose I could drop by—if you're _sure_ no one will complain."

Great. Here she was: completely ready to spill her deepest insecurities all over a guy she'd met _one_ other time.

"Excellent." Chekov beamed. Dillan opened her mouth, but he interrupted her to say, "And do not worry about a gift: your, er, presence will be present enough."

Dillan closed her mouth.

"What?" He blinked, eyebrows furrowing. "Did I say something wrong?"

The corner of her mouth twitched of its own volition. "No: that was spot on."

He smiled.

Dillan glanced at her padd, then gave out a small shriek. Her five minutes were nearly up. She stuttered out an apology, and brushed past him for the turn up ahead. Behind her, she just heard Chekov call out, _"Do not forget, it's at-"_ before he was out of earshot.

She arrived at the room a gasping mess. One attempt at fixing her ponytail later, and the door slid open to admit her inside.

The first thing she noticed was that her interviewer wasn't human. Their eyes, thin and slanted, were on either side of their head. Pale pink frills made up their neck. The most startling thing: she'd known one of their kind back on Aguas. Dillan tried to keep her gaze on their face as she sat down.

"Hello, Ms. Chasidy. I'll just be a moment and we can get started." They finished typing and turned to face her.

"H-Hi." Dillan wasn't sure whether to shake their hand or not. She settled with sitting down in the chair across from their desk.

"My name is Fandar," they said, their frills ruffling as they spoke. "Were you able to fill out everything on the application form?" Their voice, soft and melodic, gave Dillan a sense of calmness.

"Most of it," she stuttered as they gestured for her to give them her padd. They placed it on a scanner and the documents were transferred with a quiet _beep_.

"Most?" They placed their tablet on the corner of their desk.

"There are some things I… that I still don't know."

"Understood." They pulled up the documents on their display and scrolled through them. "I've been informed of your, ah, unique situation, shall we call it?"

Dillan nodded, grateful.

"Hm, birth year: 2241. No date?"

"We didn't celebrate birthdays," Dillan said, which wasn't a lie. "At least, no individual ones. It was part of our New Year's event—the recognizing of one's growth and age." _Don't get too much into it now…_

"Curious," Fandar said, without looking up. "And your mother was named… Rowan Chasidy?"

Another falsity. Dillan dipped her chin. Her mother had given her the name Chasidy in the effort of providing Dillan with a headstart at an individual future. At least one of her inane plans had worked out.

"And your father…" Fandar looked up, bluish lips pursed.

"Milo," Dillan stuttered. "Milo Chasidy." Another lie. She'd never even met him, never mind known his real name.

"Lovely." Fandar scrolled through the rest of Dillan's application, asking questions now and then. Mainly, they read.

"Your letter of intent is fairly basic," they said once they'd gotten to the end.

"I know," Dillan sighed.

They waved their hand. "Think nothing of it. Considering the circumstances in which you applied—which for once don't include seeking political amnesty or protection during some sort of civil unrest—it's perfectly adequate."

_Good. _She didn't need to stand out anymore than necessary.

"Now," they said, bridging their hands below their chin. "There's the subject of your planet of origin."

Dillan froze. She'd hoped to have avoided this and leave the interview in a clean, unruffled state.

"Before the Enterprise found you, Aguas was not registered in the Federation's database, and yet a group of, shall we say, mostly human residents chose to settle there—outside any forms of help."

"I put everything I know in my application," said Dillan.

"I know you did: I just read it."

Dillan rolled a lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger. Nearly in the clear; just stopped because Aguas was a few light years past the neutral zone.

"I know all you cared to share with us," Fandar said. Dillan tried to protest, but they silenced her by raising their hand. "What_ I_ want to know—specifically about your people—is what their values were."

She hadn't gotten this far into her story. How could she make up a doctrine for an off-shoot colony on the spot? Dillan had been a fool for assuming they wouldn't care.

"They were… independent," she began. _Best to just base them off Mother's._ "To put it lightly: they didn't like Federation—or Starfleet."

Fandar had no eyebrows, but their forehead creased in curiosity. "Lightly?"

"Yes: I don't want to repeat the things they said. You might kick me out if I did." She attempted a smile, but it did little to lessen her interviewer's stern gaze.

"They saw Starfleet as a, uh, disguised militaristic encampment towards the planets it observed. They always mentioned something called 'The Prime Directive' as their reasoning behind this. They never really explained what it was."

After a few minutes' access to the Starfleet rulebook, Dillan had begun to question everything her mother had ever told her. Learning that the person she'd been closest to in the world might have been just a misguided fanatic had left her… questioning, to say the least.

"I know it's bad," she said. "Or, it _was_ bad. But I don't think I'm like them."

Fandar made a small note in the corner of their display.

"Thank you," they said. "This information will remain confidential, and will be locked in the Federation's archives. You have helped us better understand the reasoning behind this schism."

Dillan shifted in her seat. "Glad I could help." She hadn't expected it to work that well.

"The only thing," Fandar mused, "Is that I couldn't find any record of Aguas, or this 'Alka Project', as you say, in the public records."

"Oh, really?" she said.

"It's rather odd. But I'll look into it on a later date. No need to bore you with my research patterns…" A low rumble emitted from deep within their throat. They were chuckling, Dillan realized.

"Now, are there any other relatives you have that you know of? Anyone we can contact who would want to know you're alive?"

Ancestors? Relatives? What good would they do? Her mother's family—because she had found her mother's profile under her real name—wouldn't want anything to do with her.

Dillan shook her head. "No. None that I know of. I mean, all of our immediate family was there,"

"And your parents' parents?" Fandar asked.

_Stars, they're prying._ "All dead," she whispered. "They were a part of the stations too: helped create and move them. Died on them too." The lies felt like they were spiralling out of control. Each one led her deeper into this tunnel. One mistake and she'd be thrown out before she could shout 'wait.'

Eyes cast down at her hands, Dillan didn't see the sad look cross Fandar's face. She looked up as they cleared their throat.

"Your test results are rather exemplary," they said. "I—as well as those reviewing your application—will wonder how exactly you learned all that you did. Was there a schooling system in place on your colony?"

"My Mom taught me some," Dillan said. She locked eyes with Fandar. "I learned the rest on my own after the fall. Lots of trial-and-error." Enough to have killed her, but she'd survived.

"It worked in your favor," Fandar said. "At least on paper." They tapped their chin. "Now, on the subject of reassignment."

"Reassignment?" Dillan didn't know what she'd done wrong.

"You're of age, and therefore can choose where you wish to go," Fandar said. "As of right now, there are two options I can present to you: stay here and become accustomed to civilian life in the Federation. Somerdale is still a rather new station, so the council is still recruiting families to come live and work here. If you were to stay, a small apartment and employment would be arranged—now that you're part of the union, of course."

They didn't want her. Dillan's shoulders wilted. She'd spent three weeks on the ship, and now they wanted her gone.

"The other concerns your position on the Enterprise," Fandar said. "If you wish, you're welcome to stay there on a registered Starfleet co-op. However, if you'd rather remain on Somerdale, both the Captain and Head Engineer have offered up glowing references for any prospective employers."

"-The ship," Dillan found herself stuttering. "If I'm allowed to stay there I'd like to."

Fandar nodded. "I had a feeling you'd say that, but perhaps a little more time to consider?"

Dillan shook her head. "I want to stay on the Enterprise." She looked over their shoulder to the plaza outside. A few kilometers away, the Enterprise hovered in her loading dock.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Fandar followed her gaze, turning around in their seat. "I've always enjoyed the stories, but Starfleet was never for me.'"

"Is there a registration fee?" Dillan asked, suddenly imbued with a new sense of stability. She was going to stay on the Enterprise. "For Starfleet, I mean." The thought of needing money terrified her. She'd only ever depended on herself.

Fandar seemed to ponder the question for longer than necessary. Finally, they said, "No: it's been taken care of."

They got to their feet; Dillan followed suit. She took their hand and shook it, the circuits in her right arm buzzing happily.

"Welcome to the Federation, Ms. Chasidy."

* * *

She spent the rest of the day on a beaming-based, self-guided tour of Somerdale. She walked to each of its monuments, including the donators' fountain, constantly finding her gaze lifted up towards the space outside the dome. Nearly everyone she passed by was someone she hadn't seen before: a new face around every corner.

She found the grass most exciting. Her mother had always spoken of Earth's nature with a glowing heart, and had growled constantly about how the government had destroyed it.

_"__Keep on walkin', Sunflower. That's right: walk to Mama."_

_A squeal pierced the air as tiny baby feet padded across the cell floor._

Dillan busied herself by reading all two hundred names on the first Volunteers' plaque. A number of them were in a language she didn't recognize.

Now and then she would come across people wearing uniforms like hers. They'd smile and wave, while she awkwardly tried doing the same. Her solid, red shirt stood out in the park, and even one civilian asked if she needed directions to the crew residences.

During their week-long leave, the crew of the Enterprise had taken up in a large hotel while the ship was being cleaned. The hotel had a ballroom on the main floor, sometimes rented out for special occasions. That evening, around 20h00 hours, crew from every floor flocked to its centre.

Dillan arrived around 20h30, when the music was cranked and the lights had gone full strobe. The steady thrum of the bass seemed to expand the walls with every upbeat. A vast buffet of inter-planetary cuisine lined the south wall. At the centre of it: a punch fountain, probably more spiked than not.

The dense crowds of people made Dillan's stomach clench. At the centre of the dance floor, she glimpsed one golden-haired officer spinning in time to the beat. Everyone but her either had a drink or someone to talk to.

Dillan stood by the North entrance, watching the partygoers stumble in and out. Their sparkling, loose outfits made her uniform feel like prison garb. Give it a little time, and someone might even notice her.

Across the ballroom, in between two of his friends, Pavel danced, hands raised high above his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a spot of colour. Red, lingering in the yellow lobby lights. Apart from anyone else. Turning a swift one-eighty, he tried to get a better look, but they were already gone.

Although heavily inebriated, he wondered where ever that Crewman Chasidy was. She hadn't come to his birthday party.

* * *

For everyone else, the next week was a mixture of headaches and hangovers. Even by the following Wednesday, the crew trudged to the loading bays in groups of two and three, sometimes holding onto one another for support. The cleaning crew and their androids had vacated the ship in the early hours of the previous morning, leaving it in perfect condition for the evening launch.

Dillan found it hard to believe that at some point or another, _everyone_ had attended Chekov's birthday party. She'd made the right decision in avoiding it, instead choosing to fill out the rest of her Starfleet application. She only wished that Chekov had been too drunk to notice her absence.

She regretted was not getting to wear her freshly-made civilian clothes. Wearing her red uniform (the second of the eight she owned), she waited with the rest of her core just outside loading bay six.

As she went to follow the people ahead of her, she felt a hand grab her right shoulder. Instinctively, she jerked away from it, whirling around to face the owner.

"Oh." She relaxed a little. "Hey, Chekov."

He shielded his eyes from the lights, smiling offhandedly at her. _"Tvoi volosy…"_

"What?" Dillan stared him up and down.

"Oh!" His eyes widened. "I… your hair is just especially shiny this day."

She ran her fingers through her ponytail, trying not to let the self-consciousness show. "Thank you…?" Shiny hair was good, right? She'd tried one of the fancy bottles on the vanity in her room that morning. Maybe she should've taken it with her.

"I'm sorry I missed your party the other day," she said. "It looked-" _-Don't give away that you saw it-_ "It must've been fun. I heard the music all night." She hoped that it didn't sound like she was annoyed with him.

The music hadn't bothered her. In fact, she'd enjoyed listening to it, and had lounged on her room's balcony for most of the night. She found Somerdale's open cityscape oddly… calming. It wasn't the space that scared her: just the people.

"Yes," Pavel said, slinging one arm around her shoulders. "It was quite the party—almost better than the one back in Russia… and yet: something missing."

They stepped forward together as the line began to move. Dillan disentangled herself from him. Placing one hand on his shoulder, she made sure Chekov was able to stand on his own.

"You're not well yet, are you?"

"Nonsense!" he blurted out, then put a hand to his forehead. "All right, perhaps some."

Dillan looked ahead the gangplank. Through the security gate and up the ramp: they were nearly to the ship. If only this line would move faster.

Dillan groaned internally, realizing where they were headed through.

_Security gate. _She'd only had the interview a couple days ago. She could assume that the Federation was as slow as anyone else in processing applications.

"You will come to the Holiday party, correct?" Pavel asked.

"The _what_ party?" The word sounded vaguely familiar. Like she'd overheard it from a passing guard or prisoner and then asked her mother who'd told her to never speak of it again.

"You don't know?" he said. Noticing the confusion written across her face, he shook his head. "Holiday! It is a celebration that we have every year."

"When is the next one?" Dillan asked.

He counted on his fingers. "One, two… three—three months!"

"Will it be as exciting as your birthday sounded?" By the way the music had shaken the entire building, she had astronomical expectations.

Slapping a hand to his stomach, Chekov let out a strong belly laugh. "You can expect it to be so!"

Holiday. That's when she would go out. Dillan had three months to muster up the courage (or sanity?) she would need to attend such an event.

"Hey there, birthday man!" Someone jumped on Chekov from behind. The man turned him around by the shoulders. Dillan stared at them while he shook him back and forth.

This seemed to be commonplace, as Chekov accepted the affectionate attack with minimal resistance, and maximum apologetic look in Dillan's direction.

"How's the hangover doin'? Think you'll be able to navigate us through the Delta Quadrant?"

"Aye, Bennet." Chekov swatted at the brown-haired man. "That is not until next week!"

The man, Bennet, looked over Chekov's shoulder at Dillan. He raised an eyebrow, then dipped his head in her direction. "Afternoon, Miss. Please excuse me while I accost your companion here."

The corner of her mouth twitched, soon developing into a set of giggled. "Oh, accost away." Dillan waved him on. "He was doin' the same to me."

Bennet took her leave. "Mr. Chekov!" he exclaimed. "Do I need to re-enroll you in my flirting classes? Because that is _not_ how you treat a lady!" He looked at Dillan. "_I _specialized in men; so if you're looking for some education," he said, spinning Chekov back around, "then I suggest Lincoln. She works in astrophysics and transport with our dear Commander Spock."

Dillan nodded, eyes wide. "I, uh, I'll keep that in mind?" she stammered, spots of pink appearing on her cheeks.

Bennet cocked his head. "Oh, that's so sweet. You don't even know."

Chekov struggled to get out of his grasp. Bennet promptly pushed him away and stuck out his hand. "Since our dear friend here robbed me of _my_ introduction, might I have your name?"

"Dillan," she said, beaming, and shook his hand.

"And what do you do?" he asked, jerking his head toward the Enterprise.

"Oh, I work in janitorial." Immediately, she felt a sense of shame wash over her. "-But I'm trying—training to be an engineer."

"Fascinating!" Bennet exclaimed. "But you'll have to excuse me: I wouldn't be able to tell the difference." His humour was infectious. Soon enough, Dillan and Chekov were laughing along with him.

"He is the aide to Commander Spock," Chekov whispered, nudging her side with his elbow. "But you are more likely to meet his boyfriend: he works in security. Red: like you and me—well, like me some of the time."

Dillan looked beyond Bennet to see the tall Orion man from her last security snafu. His uniform was pressed within an inch of its life, but his posture was lacking. He had a nervous look in his eye, constantly looking around as if he was waiting for something awful to occur.

"Samuel," he said to Bennet, "We should go." He took his arm with the intention of tugging him away. Bennet turned his head towards him and listened as he spoke. When the Orion finished, he nodded, a solemn expression on his face.

"Hi, I'm Dillan," Dillan said, but they'd already begun to walk away. Bennet glanced over the Orion's shoulder and gave them a small wave, but the boyfriend didn't address her at all.

Dillan's hand dropped to her side. "Oh… okay then."

Chekov came up beside her. "Do not take offence," he said. They stared after the couple. "Harrev rarely speaks to anyone besides Bennet."

Dillan's chin sunk to her chest.

Chekov looked at her. "You are aware of how the Orion society works, correct?"

"Somewhat…" she murmured. "The females have the males convinced that they're in control; but really, it's the other way around." A heavy stone twisted its way into her gut. "Does that mean…?"

"Harrev came to Starfleet for asylum." Chekov explained. "He has been with us for just over one year. I do not know much more about his personal story, but he does not get along with any of the other Orions."

Dillan nodded. Until meeting him, she'd only seen females aboard the Enterprise.

She noticed then that the people around them were shooting dirty looks their way. An engineer shouldered Chekov quite roughly as he moved past them.

"Chekov…" Dillan said. "I think we're holding up the line."

He looked ahead at the pocket that had formed around them. "So it would seem." They rejoined the crowd, setting off for the gangplank. Dillan thought she glimpsed the lieutenant from before, but he didn't have a single thing to say to her. This time, she went through without a hitch.

* * *

_Recipient: Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise_

_Re: Information Request_

_Dear Commander Spock,_

_I apologize that we weren't able to meet at Somerdale._

_In regards to your request, I'm afraid that it is not within my power to fulfill it, as we have no such records stored in the database pertaining to the aforementioned planet "Aguas" and "Alka Project."_

_This confuses me as much as I'm sure it must frustrate you, however, if I make any developments (as unlikely as that is), please know that you will be the first I notify._

_Best regards,_

_Ensign Reyna Fitzgerald_

_ID#29GH71_

_Starfleet Recordkeeping, Outer Limits_

* * *

**_Yuuki no Yuki: _**_I'm glad you're enjoying the plot so far, and that you found something to relate to in Dillan's antisocial tendancies. Thank you for the review and the highly-well-thought-out speculations. XD_

**_Sarnakh the Sunderer: _**_Yep, our boy Spock is a master of passive-aggressive emails (even if he knows it is unlikely to result in a positive response.)_

**_Scholar of Imagination: _**_Thank you for reading/reviewing again: I'm happy you enjoyed it, and relieved that I was able to things clear up for you :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **This chapter is less plot-heavy, but makes up for that with more character interactions and development—enjoy!

Chapter 6: Routine Physicals and Routine Routines

* * *

_09h00_

"So, how are you adjusting?"

Dillan looked up from her padd to Uhura. "To the gravity, or just life in general?"

That had become her response to the question, as she'd been asked it nearly every day for the past month. She wondered how long it would take for it to catch on.

"Both, although I'm inclined towards the latter." Uhura pointed to the next verb on the display. "Go."

Dillan conjugated it, only stumbling on the plural, second person. Uhura pushed her until she'd gotten through every form—past, present, and future tense.

"Well," she said once it was finished. "Somerdale was… intense, to say the least. To be honest, I prefer the uniform-ness of the ship," she said, outlining a square with her index finger. Uhura followed it, focusing more on her finger than the square.

Noticing her gaze, Dillan crossed her arms. "So, what's, uh, what's next?"

"Sorry," Uhura said. "It's just… it looks so real."

"It's supposed to," Dillan said quietly. "Although if you go past my knee, I start to resemble the bulkheads." She patted her thigh.

"That's why you asked for pants," Uhura realized out loud.

"I don't want people to treat me any more different than they already do." She got enough looks showing her ID at parties or at the gym. Over the past month, she'd become very aware of the alternate ways of getting around the ship.

Uhura sighed. "And that's exactly what I'm doing right now, isn't it?"

"It's okay." Dillan shrugged. "You're my tutor: I can't really complain."

Uhura laughed, and Dillan let her pat her shoulder, metal plates and all.

* * *

_14h30_

Dillan hissed, ducking as another batch of steam shot out at her. When she sat back up, the air was foggy with gas. She coughed, despite the air mask covering her mouth and nose.

Her first real repair gig, and she was stuck in hell.

-Not literally, of course. But at the rate she was able to check these heaters, it may as well have been.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She flinched, raising her screwdriver.

"Just me," Scotty said, hands in the air.

Dillan relaxed and lowered the non-weapon.

"I just came to check on you," he said. "It can get a bit quiet down here."

She nodded. "I feel like I can hear anything that moves before it even moves." She didn't even need to adjust her auditory settings.

"Aye, she'll do that to you," he laughed. "How're you fairing so far?"

Dillan scooted over to make room for him. He eased onto one knee to inspect the panel on the wall. After a moment, he frowned.

"What?" she said. "Is it not up to par?"

"No, it's fine, lassie—great, actually for your first crack at it." He scratched his head. "It's just… not what you were assigned to."

Dillan's eyes widened. "Oh!" She pointed to the vent on the other side of the small, eight by eight foot room. "That? I fixed that in a minute—hyperbolically speaking of course; it took me about half an hour, loose screws an' all. _This_," she pointed back to the panel, _"This_ started smoking about three hours ago. Which reminds me…" She pulled another air mask from beside her. "You really should put this on. -Got it from medical," she whispered.

A _ping_ came from her communicator. She picked it up, flipping open the top half.

_"__Reminder,"_ a female voice said, _"You are late for your mandatory physical. Repeated lateness will result in a—"_ Dillan snapped it shut before another word got out.

Scotty stared at her, expecting some sort of explanation.

Dillan shrugged it off. "Comm's been doing that for the past few days. I'm sure it's just a glitch."

Shaking his head, Scotty returned to the panel at hand. "You can't avoid him forever."

She crossed her arms. "No idea _what _you're talking about."

* * *

_19h00_

Dillan grunted as Sulu's kick hit her square in the hip bone. She fell back to the ground with an unsatisfying _whumpf._

"You almost had it that time," he said as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. He held up a hand.

Dillan smiled weakly and returned the high five.

Sulu laughed when she flopped onto her back. "Maybe that's where we stop for today…"

Dillan gave him a thumbs up from her place on the floor.

From across the gym, they heard the _ping_ of one of their pads being hailed. Dillan sat up, and nearly made it to her feet before Sulu glanced at the screen.

"You got a message from Pavel… and Bones."

Dillan sighed. "Oh, just ignore that last one. I have a shift soon anyways."

She glanced at the time, ticking down on a hologram projected onto the wall. "Speaking of…" She could get a head start on her work if she headed out now.

Sulu tossed her a water bottle, which she caught without even looking in his direction. He wondered if all the extra shifts she was taking were having an effect on their weekly sparring sessions—she usually managed to get in a punch or two.

After taking a sip, Dillan turned her attention to where that last kick had been placed.

As it'd hit her right side, it hadn't hurt, per say. The landing, on the other hand, had. The mats here were infamously tough, but the other gyms were booked for various intramural sports tournaments through the week.

"So what's happening between you two?" Sulu asked.

Dillan paused mid-stretch. "Me and Bones?" She'd been avoiding him for nearly a week, that's what was happening.

Sulu shook his head. "No: you and Pav."

_Oh._ Was this a better or worse subject? What even _was_ between them?

"You know…" She shrugged. "Friend stuff." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't look at me like that!"

Sulu couldn't tell if she was lying, or if she was just that oblivious. Dillan picked at the skin on her arm, eyes glued to the floor, and it clicked for him.

"He still doesn't know, does he?"

She looked to either side, then up at the ceiling.

Sulu stepped forward. "Dillan…"

"Alright, so he doesn't know!" She exclaimed. "It's not like I made a promise to tell everyone!"

"You don't need to tell everyone," Sulu cautioned.

"I want as few people to know as possible," she ranted, hands reaching up to latch onto her scalp. "Bones, because he's my doctor; command, because… well, they're command, and you and Uhura because you were there at the start of it all—ugh!" she groaned and stormed out of the gym.

Just before the doors slid shut, Sulu saw her throw her water bottle in frustration. They closed before he could see if she picked it up.

* * *

_03h00_

Dillan bit back a yawn as she pushed the trolley down the corridor. It beeped, wheels locking in place, when she walked past the lab.

She rolled her eyes, tugging it back a few paces. The wheels unlocked once she'd scanned her ID to open the door. With a grunt, Dillan pushed the trolley through.

"Hello?" she said to the apparently-empty lab. After a few more paces with no response, she stopped at the end of a shelf of micro-biomes, each globe the size of her fist. Flicking the brakes on with her toe, she stepped closer to the third shelf of small glass orbs.

Dotting the outside of each one, she saw the printed specs of the planet the biome represented. Inside the glass walls, centered around a soil sample from the planet's surface, was a model of what it looked like.

Lots of barren, rocky landscapes, at least until she came upon one that was forested. Tiny trees with spiked leaves, the lot of them situated next to a dried-up pond. Based on appearance alone, it seemed a perfectly-habitable environment. But when she looked to the specs, Dillan saw that it was only a reconstruction of the planet that once was. LZ-189 (codenamed 'Mornae' by its logger) had been reduced to an uninhabitable wasteland more than a century ago. A by-product of some interplanetary conflict Starfleet hadn't known about, or an uncalculable change in environment.

From behind her, Dillan heard the click of someone unlocking the break. She jumped, nearly knocking the biome off the shelf.

Spock paid her no mind, simply checking over the registrar's list on her padd.

"Ugh," Dillan groaned. "Of course it's you." She returned to the cart to push it after Spock as he slinked back to his office, still holding onto her padd.

"I see no reason to act so agitated," he said. "I requested you personally to deliver the samples."

"Hah!" Dillan laughed. "I knew someone wanted to torture me with the manual trolley."

While she gazed around the lab, he shot her a suspicious glance. "Your work ethic has an exemplary reputation, cadet. I had no prior knowledge of which cart you would be assigned."

As they turned the corner at the end of a shelf, one of its wheels let out a shrill shriek.

"-Although I believe it would have a positive effect on everyone if we were to upgrade it," he added.

They came to a stop outside a walk-in cooler, at which point Spock set down her padd and put on a pair of gloves.

Dillan looked at the trolley of samples, then at the cooler than needed filling.

"Do you, uh, need help with that?" she offered.

Spock looked at her padd, then handed it to her. "No, I am capable of organizing these alone."

Dillan rolled her eyes, plucking her padd out of his grasp.

"And," he added. "It looks like you have a rather urgent message."

He took her place at the head of the trolley and entered the cooler, leaving her to check her notifications.

* * *

Padd in hand, Dillan sprinted to the nearest lift.

_Pavel fell from one of the walkways. We think his leg might be broken. He's asking for you—Sulu._

She replied to Sulu as she ran through the corridors, nearly crashing into a pair of ensigns transporting leftover parts from a salvaged shuttle.

His only response was, "_Hurry_."

By the time she neared med bay, her right side ached beyond belief, the hip joint rubbed raw from the metal bones beneath it.

She slowed to a walk, rounding what she knew to be the final bend. And to her surprise, Sulu and Pavel walked out the exit, making a bee line right for her.

In hindsight, she cursed her own foolishness in not realizing it sooner.

"Hold on," she said, her pace slowing even further. She held out her hand, looking Pavel up and down. "Your leg…" There was no sign of a break—no sign of any injury.

"We are _very_ sorry about this, Dillan," Pavel said, a truly apologetic expression on his face.

They both took one of her arms and lead her towards the entrance.

"Really though," Sulu said, "You did this to yourself."

Dillan looked up at the white, fluorescent-lit ceiling of med bay. She only readjusted her gaze once they stopped moving her.

There, she saw Bones, standing next to a row of hospital beds, arms crossed.

The sudden realization of what was going on made it even worse.

* * *

"You've been over-exerting yourself."

Dillan rolled her eyes at him. Those words hadn't mean anything to her before the Enterprise. She couldn't _afford_ to have them mean anything back then.

"Oh, how I've been betrayed," she said, placing the back of her hand over her forehead.

He'd stabbed her at least twice (albeit with a needle) and put a dozen electrodes on her forehead, chest, back, and arms. It had lasted less than thirty minutes, but she was nearly certain he would have made it longer if it didn't go against the ship's guidelines.

Pavel and Sulu had left quickly after depositing her inside med bay, no doubt fearing Dillan's soon-to-be-unleashed wrath.

"Do you even hear what I'm saying?" Bones snarled. He didn't know why she was so freaked out by the physical—the first time had been perfectly fine when she'd boarded.

She waved him off. "I did it all the time back on Aguas—I have no problem doing it now." She really felt like she'd been taking a break, really.

"Well, the point of a shift-based schedule is so that the work can be divided equally," he said. All Dillan heard was the drone of the fans above their heads.

"I can take care of myself, Doc," she said. Dillan tucked her hands behind her head and leaned back onto the sheets. She frowned. "You must have more important patients to deal with. Why're you wasting your time with me?" She closed her eyes, imagining the clear image of his angry face in her head,.

Bones dropped the scanning device to her bedside table. "You'll have to excuse me," he said dryly, "But there's a patient who's having some difficulty understanding her condition here—or do I need to pound it into her metal _skull?"_

Dillan raised a finger. "Metal _plated, _thank you very much."

He groaned. "Jesus, I miss when you were polite."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said, eyes snapping open.

Bones was already stalking off, hands raised in surrender. "It means get out of my hair and get some _rest_!" he called back to her.

* * *

"I knew Bones took his role seriously," Dillan said, "But to send a hit squad after me? Diabolical."

The stars streamed past them as the Enterprise soared through space. Slow and fast at the same time, with far too many to count.

"Will you ever be able to forgive me?" Pavel asked, half-serious.

She paused before saying, "I'll consider it." Then she laughed at his almost-horrified expression, unconsciously leaning into him.

His room had twice the square footage of hers (he said it came with the seniority), but they sat together on the small rug in front of the window.

"When did he say you could go back to work?" Pavel asked.

Dillan groaned, her shoulder brushing up against his. "_T__hree_ _days_. Ugh. I'm supposed to be in my room right now." She looked around them, as if searching for any cameras that would betray her presence. Meanwhile, Pavel sent a silent thank-you to Bones.

Most everyone had noticed Dillan's increasing burnout. He'd been the only one unafraid of her enough to take on the task of setting her straight.

Dillan exhaled, gazing out through the infinite darkness.

Pavel put his left hand over her right, rubbing his thumb along the ridges and curves.

Dillan inhaled sharply.

In the moments before she tore away from him, something about doctor-ordered sleep muttered under her breath, with him ultimately left alone with the stars, he thought her hand felt a little off.

Like it wasn't normal; like it was all bone and no flesh.

* * *

_USS Enterprise Deep-Space Exploration day 417_

_Mission: Investigation of nearby, seemingly-vacant desert planet. As of writing this report, it has tentatively been named 'Sezium' by Captain Kirk._

_Mission objective: Locate the source of an unidentifiable interference affecting the Enterprise's communications systems. Collection of soil samples could prove worthwhile, as the surface temperatures have remained above forty degrees Celsius on all recorded days. _

_Mission Leader: Commander Spock (myself), Aide-de-campe Samuel Bennet, and Ensign Idell. _

* * *

The three members of the landing party stepped onto their respective transport pads. Kirk waited at the edge of the circle, hands on his hips.

"Everything feel alright with the coolant suits?" he asked. Ensign Idell stopped fidgeting with her belt.

"They are functioning at maximum capacity, Captain," Spock said. The sleek blue jumpsuits were specially designed for keeping a human body temperature steady when in consistently erratic environments. Spock tapped the button on his collar, and the helmet appeared. It molded to the back of his head, glass shield covering his face. The other party members initiated their headgear with less certainty.

"You'll have a clear line of communication with the bridge at all times," Kirk said, then winked. "Good luck."

Spock straightened his posture, the other two following suit, then made eye contact with the transport operator.

"Energize!"

* * *

_One hour earlier._

"What on Earth are ye doin' up there?" Scotty cried. "Get down!"

Dillan continued to tighten the bolt. She held the spare wrench in between her teeth. Everything else had been emptied from her pockets before coming up here.

Sooner or later, she'd have to look down. Later, it seemed, as she didn't hear Scotty properly until the third call.

"Oh!" She waved shyly from her upside-down position on the pipe. "Hey, Mr. Scott! How're you doing?" She straightened up and walked along the underside of the pipe, magnetic boots clicking with each step.

"I've been better," he said. "I'd _be_ better if you were safely on the ground!"

"Ah…" Dillan laughed nervously and began to make her way down.

"Good god," he grumbled as she finally transferred from the wall to the floor. "You're worse than Keenser."

Dillan shrugged, tapping the heels of her boots against the floor. One after the other, the lights lining the soles shut off as their magnets shut down. She loosened the straps that held them to her feet. Stepping out of the boots.

Unlike her left foot, her right seemed oddly small for the sock covering it. Scotty stared at it until Dillan cleared her throat. He coughed and refocused his attention on the boots, allowing her a moment to change back into her normal foot ware.

"So, er, what are these rust buckets?"

Her expression relaxed. _"Rust buckets?"_ Dillan exclaimed in mock offense. "These _shoes _are the reason why that ventilator up there is working again." She picked one of the boots up and handed it to him.

Scotty turned it around, inspecting from all angles. After a minute, he said, "These are mag boots…"

Dillan nodded.

"…That you made yourself?"

She cocked her head. "Well, it's more like I modified one of the magnetic locks from MIKA into a pair of guar — boots. Into a pair of _shoes,_ which allows me to walk on any surface with a potential magnetic charge—yeah, okay, I see what you mean." She sighed, picking up the other to rejoin the pair. The fabric frayed at the edges, making the straps dangerously thin. When she wore them it felt like attaching two lead bricks to her feet, but they got the job done. "They're _homemade._"

Amused and impressed, Scotty handed the other boot back to her. "That's some fine work," he said. Dillan beamed. "But you know we have our own, right?"

* * *

After _that _revelation, Dillan went to lunch. She spent more time writing than eating, which was how Pavel found her: curled up in the corner of the caf, lunch abandoned for her work.

He set down his own tray and waited. She looked up, smiled, and motioned for him to join her. She relaxed with her back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her as he settled onto the bench.

They sat in silence for some time, the only sound coming from him no matter how quietly he tried to chew.

Dillan tapped her padd intermittently with the tip of her stylus. After she let out a particularly loud sigh, he decided to speak.

Do you need any more help?" he asked. Timed unwisely, as he was in mid-chew.

"What?" Dillan scrunched up her nose. "Oh," she said in realization, gesturing to her padd. "No, this isn't for work. Just… personal stuff."

Swallowing, Pavel leaned towards her. "May I see?"

Dillan pulled the padd to her chest. "Not today!" _Or ever, _she thought_. _"It hasn't been polished yet."

The expression on his face made Dillan burst out laughing.

"I- I'm sorry?" he stuttered. "I do not understand what you mean." 'Polish' was something you forgot to do to the bulkheads and got reprimanded for afterwards. As far as he was concerned, it had nothing to do with writing.

Dillan gasped in an exaggerated attempt to regain control over herself. "_I'm_ sorry," she explained. _"Improved upon_," she added when his confusion seemed hesitant to lapse.

Pavel nodded, slowly repeating the word over and over to himself. Dillan held back a smile at his antics.

"So you are writing a story?" he asked.

Dillan shrugged. "Something like that—although today my head isn't in the right place." She put the stylus down on the table and rolled it back and forth underneath her index and middle fingers. The skin grafts on her hand had yet to die off. Until then, she could use her right hand without having to wear gloves. "I can't stop thinking about the mission that's happening today."

Pavel swallowed a spoonful of the soup the replicator had cooked up. In his conversation with her, he'd forgotten how hot it was and had to bite his tongue to keep from spitting it back out.

Dillan surged forward as he coughed violently. "Oh my god, what did you do?" she said while trying to keep him from teetering off the bench.

"I am—ugh!—fine!" He groaned, then started to laugh. Once she realized that he wasn't going to choke to death, Dillan followed suit. Neither of them paid any mind to the weird stares they were receiving.

Dillan sat back, removing her hand from his shoulder. "You really shook up my lunch break."

Pavel grinned. "Only for a moment."

Her moment had already passed. Dillan felt it would be rude to bring up the awful headaches she'd been having, considering that he'd nearly choked on soup. They'd been taking a toll on her work.

"Well," Pavel said, gesturing to her padd, "If you ever need help 'polishing'—if that word even means what you say it means—I would be happy to read it. English may not be my first language, but I always admired the literature of my home country."

Dillan snorted, but when she noticed his neutral expression, froze. "Oh, god, you're serious."

He held it for three seconds, long enough for her to re-examine every life decision she'd made up until then, before smiling.

"Only kidding, as some would say."

* * *

Kirk returned to the bridge in time to see the sandstorm appear on their scanners. Murmurs rippled through out the room as every one of the displays became overridden with feedback. He crossed over to his chair and opened a line of communication to the landing party.

"Spock, talk to me! What can you see?"

His First Officer's voice crackled through the speaker in the chair, sentences each broken up into a segment more undecipherable than the last.

_"…__sandstorm…horizon…source, unknown…_" was all they got.

Kirk turned to Uhura, whose face had gone pale. "Lieutenant, work on bringing back our connection. Mr. Chekov," he said to the determined navigator, the smile all but zapped from his eyes. "Get transport to beam our crew back up, _now._"

"They are trying, keptin," Chekov stuttered, gesturing at his display. "But they cannot get a solid grasp on all of their signatures."

"Captain," Uhura said, "There's a virus crashing our comms. It's moving faster than I can work."

Kirk looked at the three dots that represented the crew members on Sezium. Three lives in his hands, each one of them depending on him, on the ship, to get them out of there safely.

"_…__shelter…distance…_" Spock's voice came through on the speaker. "_Make…there…_"

The dots changed direction, moving further away from the storm's shifting mass.

"Shelter, Spock? You said you can see shelter?" Kirk clutched the armrests of the chair. "If you have eyes on shelter, go there and we'll pick you up when this has all blown over!" Kirk leaned forward as he spoke.

But all anyone really heard was the soft _blip, blip, blip_ as the three dots moved across the topographic display of Sezium's desert terrain.

Chekov tracked their locations; Sulu had Dillan load a shuttle for a second departure; Uhura adjusted the frequency of their comms, trying to derail the interference. Someone else alerted medical of the situation, just on instinct.

It was that someone who had the right idea, as just two _blips_ later, the dots disappeared all together, taking the fate of the three crew members along with them.

* * *

**_Yuuki no Yuki: _**_Thanks for reviewing! Dillan is definitely digging herself a deeper hole with each meeting she has… I love reading your speculations: it's great that you're so invested in the story :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Welcome new readers/followers! In these trying times of self-quarantine (thanks, Coronavirus…) I bring you yet another chapter! While it is shorter than the last, it's essentially part 2 of 3 in the chapters involving the desert planet Sezium, so stay tuned for that second part in a couple weeks from now. As always, thanks for reading my story :)

Chapter 7: Sezium's Rage

* * *

"This is exactly why I am against this sort of mission!" Bones exclaimed.

Kirk shook his head and continued down the hall. "You're against everything that's even remotely dangerous, Bones," he said.

"Exactly!" Bones said.

"-And just because you were right this one time doesn't mean you get to bitch."

Even having said that, Kirk almost wished he would continue.

The landing party was gone. The Enterprise's scanners weren't picking up any life forms—even the massive sandstorm had dissipated. The surface had cleared for the moment, which gave them valuable time to search.

Kirk and Bones arrived in the loading bay, even busier than it was on a normal day, and made a bee-line straight for the shuttle.

Dillan lay underneath it, sparks flying as she welded the caps shut on the final panel. Word was abuzz that the landing party had gone missing. Scotty had fast-forwarded the shuttle's tune-up to ten minutes ago, as a search team was about to head down.

As she got out from underneath the port side, Dillan readjusted her ponytail. She felt a sense of dread towards the missing crew members. It didn't matter that her and Commander Spock rarely got along: he was as important to the ship as anything else, and often even moreso. They needed him—and the other two—back.

"Is she ready to go?" asked a tall, bald security officer.

"Yep." Dillan tapped her wrench against the side of the hull. "I just had to adjust the regulator the for the higher temp-"

"-Alright, alright, now scram: the Captain's here." He waved her off. Dillan crossed her arms. Apparently, the repairs crew were meant to be neither seen nor heard.

She stayed put as the Captain and CMO came up to the shuttle ramp. The security officer saluted (a gesture whose timing she had yet to master) and welcomed them aboard.

After they'd gone up, Dillan peeked inside.

Kirk was facing the door, and as their eyes met, she jumped back out of sight.

"Dillan?" a voice said from behind her. "Are you here for the mission?"

Pavel walked up to the shuttle, wearing a jumpsuit she could only assume was based on the coolant designs Innovation and Technology had worked on for the past two weeks. She couldn't help but pause and admire how it clung to his, er, _chest. _

Before she could tell him the truth, the Captain stepped out and gestured for the two of them to join him.

They went inside. Dillan tried to avoid the eyes of the security officer from before by shrinking against the wall. Bones looked between them, brow furrowing.

"Mr. Chekov," Kirk said, "You're on navigation: we need our best to find our missing crew." Kirk ushered the security officer away when he gave Dillan a perturbed look. "Don't worry about her, cupcake, she's all right to be here."

"Oh!" Dillan gestured between him, Bones and the door as the security officer left. "I was just doing the repairs. I really should be going…"

"Scotty recommended you himself," said Bones, unloading a first-aid kit into one of the shelves bolted to the wall. "And _I_ seconded it. You're supposed to be here, kid."

Despite the happy whirrs she got from her spinal implants, Dillan also had no idea what Bones was talking about.

Kirk clapped a hand on Bones' shoulder, saying, "I'll take it from here." He left with an appraising glance in Dillan's direction.

While Pavel refreshed himself with the shuttle's console—something he hadn't had to do in months—Kirk handed Dillan a jumpsuit. It was much like the one he and Pavel wore, only someone had done a very last-minute job on shortening the right leg.

"Uhhh…" She looked around at the shuttle's cramped quarters. "I am _not_ comfortable changing in here."

Kirk's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No, no, no, not what I meant at all." He pointed to the end of the shuttle opposite to where Pavel was. "There's a closet down there. Trust me: it's roomier than the name suggests."

"Okay, great." The nervous ticking in her head died down slightly. "One small question: what am I doing here?"

Kirk looked over his shoulder at Pavel—who was still working his way through the display settings—before speaking. "You—_we—_are going to find Spock."

"Okay—but how exactly do I help with that? We could just beam them back up, but I can't really work the transporter from the surface. I'm a mechanic-" she sighed, then added, "-Mechanic in training, really. Just… in training."

Kirk shook his head. "That's not what we need you for: they're not showing up on our scanners. This shuttle has a pretty weak scanner radius, so, uh…" he pointed at her face.

"What, do I have grease on it again?" Dillan rubbed around her right eye, causing the tactile sensors inside to go wild.

"You could…" Kirk pointed his index and middle fingers at her eyes.

It clicked then—as in something literally clicked inside her skull.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, then went very quiet. She looked over Kirk's shoulder at Pavel, blissfully ignorant of their entire conversation. "I see. Yes: I should be able to help out once we're on the surface."

"Excellent." Kirk turned and went to sit in the pilot's chair. "Hurry up and get changed. Then strap in: the heat waves are going to be pretty rough down there."

Dillan nodded, silently thanking him for being so discrete about it. She still hadn't told Pavel a thing about her mechanical parts. She hoped that maybe someday they'd be able to sit down as friends and talk about it. Hopefully he wouldn't freak.

* * *

Dillan had heat scanners implanted in her vision. Although only one eye had been replaced, the mutations had affected both of her occipital lobes.

She fiddled with her right ear as Pavel maneuvered them out of the docking bay. By the time they'd left the Enterprise, she had the switch for her thermal heat vision figured out. Luckily, she found that one first, and not the one that removed her ear entirely.

Dillan watched the Enterprise shrink through one of the windows until Pavel turned the shuttle, taking the ship out of their view.

If it wasn't for the change in scenery, she wouldn't have noticed the landing. The soft whirr of the engines died as Pavel powered them down. Apparently, _not_ as rough as Kirk had expected.

Dillan undid her seatbelt and they met at the door to the shuttle.

"We need to find the missing crew and bring them back to the ship," Kirk said, more for himself than anyone else.

"Or at least to a place where the transporter can reach them," Dillan added. He regarded her, then nodded.

"Do we have a specific direction to head in, sir?" Pavel asked.

Kirk looked pained to answer him. "For the time being, we're just going to retrace their steps. Hopefully we can find their signal, but if not, just, uh…" he glanced at Dillan. "Just keep an eye out, alright?"

Dillan and Pavel nodded, one of them knowing far more than the other.

Kirk hit the button to open the exterior door. "Let's go!"

They jumped out of the shuttle, each one scanning the horizon for any sign a threat. The door folded shut behind them, and Dillan finally got a good look at Sezium.

Dark red sand covered everything in sight. They moved out of a small valley, leaving the shuttle being them. Dillan walked between Kirk and Pavel, trying not to concentrate too hard on the weapons they carried. She did know how to shoot one, just not in the Starfleet-sanctioned way.

The ground's tendency to shift underneath their feet made for a difficult climb. By the time they reached the top of the ridge, Dillan was sweating from head to toe.

Fortunately, the suit's coolant features did their work to keep her body temperature at a safe, consistent number. Unfortunately, it didn't come with any drying features for her armpits.

Once on flat land, they stood back to back and scoured the vast expanse, searching for anything that might tell them what had happened to the missing crew. Dillan adjusted her heat vision with a thought and turned her head back and forth, scanning the horizon.

"See anything?" Kirk asked, more directed to her than Pavel.

Dillan meant to turn a complete 360 degrees, but stopped when she spotted something blue on the horizon. The buzzing headache had resurfaced. She put a hand to her forehead.

"Okay, there, uh, might be something in that general direction?" She pointed towards the flare of blue she saw.

"How can you tell?" Pavel asked at the same time Kirk said, "Great: we'll run with that."

As they jogged towards where Dillan's internal compass lead them, A small beep emitted from Kirk's belt. He pulled out his communicator.

"Captain, you've taken a drastic turn in your course," came Sulu's voice.

"Yes, we have." Kirk gave Dillan a nod. "We're following a possible lead."

"Good to know," the acting captain said. "Sulu out."

As they reached the top of a gradual incline, Pavel said, "What is our lead?"

A sharp ping echoed through Dillan's head. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. Somehow, she knew that their footsteps would already be gone—blown away by a heavy gust of wind.

"What Dillan—what Dillan and me saw… which was that." Kirk pointed, to what Dillan could identify as the blue spot in her vision. "Yes, that."

While Pavel was distracted by the dome-like building in the distance, she blinked and switched back to her normal vision. Another _ping_ rebounded through her head. This time she did look back.

Kirk's communicator beeped again.

"Captain…" Sulu's voice wavered as he spoke. "Hate to be such a downer, but there's another sandstorm."

Kirk and Pavel looked at each other. Dillan stared back to where they came from. They turned around to follow her line of vision.

"We have no explanation for this," Sulu said from the communicator, long since dropped to the ground. "It came out of nowhere, and… and it's moving. Towards you," he added, rather reluctantly.

Dillan stared up at the billowing mass of red sand. She'd let go of the first-aid kit. It hung from her shoulder, limp and ready to be torn to shreds by the raging winds.

Kirk asked her if she'd seen this, but she didn't hear him. He and Pavel debated on whether they should try to get back to the shuttle, or search for the crew in the dome building. Dillan didn't participate, and only stared at the sandstorm that would surely tear their clothes, and subsequently, their flesh, off of their bodies.

When Kirk told Sulu not to send anyone after them, she didn't respond. When he said Sulu was in charge of the ship now, she didn't react. She did nothing, not even when he said they would find the missing crew members, at whatever the cost. She remained motionless.

It wasn't until Pavel shouted her name into her ear and shook her back and forth did Dillan even register where she was.

"-move, need to move, now!" Kirk yelled. The three of them ran down the sand dune, as straight as they could towards the metal dome. At one point, Pavel nearly tripped, but Dillan and Kirk kept him on his feet.

The red storm loomed behind them, the buzzing in Dillan's head ever more apparent.

After stumbling to the bottom of the dune, they began the 100 metre sprint towards the metal structure. Red filled the air around them as they got closer. Dillan tapped the button on her collar that activated her helmet. It sealed shut with a satisfying _slunk_.

She hadn't been able to see inside the structure with her thermal vision—just the surrounding area, and the considerably colder outer shell.

Having regained his footing, Pavel reached it first, and proceeded to beat his fists against the outside. Dillan joined him in searching for an opening—some way they could get inside to shelter.

Kirk watched the sandstorm for a few moments, back turned to them, before he made one final call to the bridge. Neither Dillan nor Pavel heard the exchange, both too absorbed in looking for an entrance to hear what could've been his last words to the Enterprise.

Dillan took off the right glove to her suit and knelt at the base of the dome. She skimmed her right hand, the metal one, along the seam where structure met sand, going a slow circle around the structure. Pavel looked between her and Kirk as her form became distorted in the sandy haze.

Determined not to lose either of them, he kept his sight locked on her receding form as he yelled, "Captain!"

Kirk closed his comms unit with what felt like a terrible finality and followed Pavel's cries to their source.

The two of them locked arms and followed Dillan's path, keeping their free hands connected to the dome at all times. They walked in a circle around its base. From here, Pavel realized just how wide the structure really was.

"Over here!" They heard Dillan's voice through the onslaught of red. "There's a door!"

They kept walking, at least until the wall to their left disappeared. Pavel saw her figure amongst the dust. Her arm waved them in.

Knowing they had no other option, Pavel stumbled inside. Kirk followed, grabbing the back of his suit to keep him upright.

The interior was considerably darker, although it lacked the choking abundance of red sand. The winds clouded Dillan's voice as she spoke, still standing outside the dome.

"_…__sliding door…need…close it_."

Pavel saw her figure struggling in the sand outside. She attempted to pull the door shut, but was battered back again and again. It was only together that they were able to get any motion out of it.

A resounding screech pushed through the air as Dillan and Pavel pulled the door shut. Kirk unclipped a device from his suit and set it on the ground. The blue light it gave off silhouetted their figures against the red swarming outside.

Kirk's back was turned when Pavel tripped again. He fell in Dillan's way as some mechanism within the door made it slide closed at an accelerated rate. Without thinking, Dillan threw the entirety of her weight against the door, now trying to hold it open.

Once she was sure he'd gotten to safety, her grip relaxed, and she went to move inside.

The door tried to close, catching her arm in the process.

Sinking to the floor, she cried out as it bit through suit sleeve, skin grafts, and into the metal of her prosthetic arm.

Pavel got up and turned to see that the door wasn't entirely closed: there was still a four-inch sliver of red through which you could see the sandstorm outside. He lurched forward, meeting Dillan as she sank to the ground.

Her body shook as the door continued trying to close, her right arm acting as a wedge between it and the wall.

"Can you pull it through?" Pavel asked. Kirk had rushed dropping another light, then knelt beside them.

Dillan shook her head, teeth clamped shut. No, moving her arm would firstly, cause a great deal of pain, and secondly, disrupt all of the skin grafts from shoulder to elbow. She could feel the sand scraping at her hand outside. For now, she could withstand it, but if left for too long, she feared it would tear through the glove and, quickly after, her fine, steel fingers.

"We have to pull you through," Kirk said.

Dillan groaned as the door shifted a tiny bit further. She felt a fissure tear along her skin grafts, the metal underneath buckling under the pressure.

"But it will break her arm," Pavel pleaded, wracking his brain for an alternative.

Break her arm. Dillan would've laughed if she wasn't so certain it would turn into a scream.

_Pavel doesn't know, he doesn't know…_

There was a way she could get out of this, but it involved telling him her secret in a less-than-ideal way.

She had discovered the latch in the month following her synthetic limbs' implantation. She'd lost her shit then, and knew the others might do the same now. A crude, singular solution, it involved twisting her arm in an impossible way—impossible, had she been completely human.

With her free hand, she tapped Kirk's shoulder. Her breath came shakily, but slow. He and Pavel stopped their arguing.

"Pull me in… when I say…" she rasped. The door had crunched through the outer layers of her bicep. She didn't look forward to fixing that, but dreaded Pavel knowing even more.

She shakily reached for the first aid kit strapped to her back. Pavel brought it around for her, asking, "What do you need?"

"…Scissors…"

"Whoa." He pulled the kit away from her. "No, no, no. We do not need to—my god, Dillan, you cannot be thinking to-" She placed her palm underneath his chin and looked into his eyes.

"It's not that," Dillan murmured. "Just trust me."

With shaking hands, Pavel cut off the sleeve of her jumpsuit at the shoulder. Outside the bunker, she felt the remaining skin grafts flay off in the wind and sand.

She felt around where her shoulder met her torso. "There…" Kirk placed a hand on her shoulder, and when she nodded, her waist.

She wouldn't get the skin grafts replaced. Once Pavel knew—_if_ he accepted her—she wouldn't hide it around him anymore.

Pavel looked between her and Kirk, utterly confused. They both clearly knew something that he did not.

"Got it." Dillan found the latch where her humorous would meet her shoulder girdle: under her right arm pit.

Kirk had put his trust in her. She'd found this bunker—the place he was certain Spock had ended up.

He had to be right… there was nowhere else.

"Now!" Dillan grunted.

She flipped the latch.

Her right arm disconnected.

Kirk pulled her in.

She fell towards them, turning and pulling the metal arm in a way that allowed it to slip through the rapidly-closing door.

All at once, the sound of the raging sandstorm outside dimmed considerably.

Back on the bridge of the Enterprise, crew jolted as the three life signatures disappeared from their scanners.

Dillan lay on her side, gasping for breath as she clutched her arm to her chest. With it removed, so had the pain. She traded that for the unfamiliar imbalance that came with standing up one-armed.

She heard someone scramble away from her. When she opened her eyes, Kirk was still there, staring in fascination at the clean stump of her right shoulder. She gave him a grim nod of thanks.

"W- w- what… how?" Pavel stared at her with a mixture of confusion and horror on his face. "Your…" he pointed at her.

"Yeah." Dillan hefted it in her left hand. "My arm."

* * *

In less than a moment, their signals had disappeared.

No escalation of heartbeat, no notable detection of injury—nothing that indicated death. Their signals were just… terminated. The system no longer registered them

Terminated probably wasn't the best choice of word, Sulu thought.

He met the eyes of the helms-people—both of them replacements for him and Chekov. He had nothing. No answer for this.

Despite what Kirk had told him—that he couldn't send anyone else—Sulu knew he would disobey the order. He would never be able to live with himself or Uhura's looks if he didn't at least try.

He knew Kirk's concern—that one by one the crew would diminish if they kept sending search parties. But this time he wouldn't just send a shuttle.

All he needed was for the storm to clear.

"Mr. Sulu…" the shaky, still-fresh-in-his-seat navigator said, "The storm clouds…"

_The second batch to spontaneously appear in two hours_, Sulu thought.

"…they're gone."

This loneliness, this solidarity in the chair… Every decision seemed his alone to make, and there had been no first officer assigned to advise him. He had to say something soon, lest the crew began to doubt his competency.

It this what Jim felt every day?

Sulu turned in the chair to find Uhura. She was working furiously at her desk, going over every reading that had come across her station that day.

Many things about this planet made him feel uneasy. People—and storms, for that matter—don't just _disappear_ off the map. But what concerned him more was the thought that they may have been able to prevent this. Their warning, no matter how disguised, had come in the form of the strange transmissions she'd received—and they had ignored them.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Here we are… part 3/3 in the Sezium chapters! I'm so glad to see that a few more people have followed in the last two weeks, so welcome to the story :) I hope you enjoy it from here on out!

Chapter 8: Underground Lair

* * *

Dillan couldn't see through the walls and it was freaking her out.

Pavel had just seen his friend pull her own arm off. He too, was freaking out.

He did it internally, by curling up in a ball and mulling over what had just happened.

Dillan paced the circumference of the bunker, running her free human hand along the side. It was completely smooth, yet somehow had doors that could slide over one another.

"They fit together perfectly…" Dillan murmured when she finished the circle. She couldn't find any seams—not even one. No bolts or soldering scars, nothing that signalled the construction of a normal bulkhead.

"Anything?" Kirk asked, crouched next to Pavel with the light.

"No." Dillan turned around. She held up her hands. "We're locked in."

Outside, if their hearing was anything to go off of, the storm had yet to die down.

"Damn." He desperately pressed the buttons on his communicator. "I can't reach the Enterprise."

Dillan turned off her thermal vision. Being confined inside the cold, metal walls was growing irritating. "What do you think they're seeing up there?"

Kirk sighed. "I'd put my money on what we saw of the last group: nothing."

Dillan looked up to where the dome peaked. A lone representation of development on this otherwise barren planet. "This place… they must have come in here." She looked around, still searching for an alternate exit.

Kirk watched her turn in a slow circle, slightly disorientated with only one arm, boots scuffing an indiscriminate pattern in the sand. He reached down and ran his fingers across the ground. In this light, the sand looked more orange than red.

Dillan snapped her fingers. "The sandstorm!" She thought of the strange buzzing that had frozen her in place, but chose not to bring it up. "There was no sign of it whatsoever…"

"Like it appeared out of the blue," Kirk continued. Pavel shuffled beside him, pretending not to listen.

"And it pushed us right here." Dillan stopped turning and stared at her feet. She'd dropped right arm next to the light—where the other two pointedly avoided looking for too long.

"So… where are the others?" Kirk asked, voicing the thoughts of everyone else present.

Dillan resumed her pacing around the dome, gaze locked on the sandy ground. In Theory, she should be able to see through the sand. The only shelter from the storm was here: you couldn't go out or up, which meant the only other way through was…

Subconsciously, her left hand reached up to behind her ear and turned the dial that switched her thermal vision back on. Dillan wondered why the sand was in here as well. She had assumed that the dome would have a base made of the same materials as its walls.

She caught a flash of blue—cold, bright, magnetic blue, hidden amongst the warm orange of the sand. She flicked her vision back to normal.

"Quick! Help me clear the sand!"

Kirk joined her in digging through the sand. It went down for nearly a foot until they hit the bottom.

And there…

"A hatch," Kirk said.

"Down," said Dillan. "They went down."

Pavel looked up from his knees at her. "How did you know that was there?" he said warily.

Dillan tucked a loose piece of hair behind her right ear. She couldn't look him in the eyes just yet. This… this was what she'd been dreading.

She hoped that Kirk would intervene, but he seemed uncharacteristically preoccupied with opening the hatch.

"I have a few…. Well, a _lot_ of synthetic body parts…" she began, biting her lower lip. "Most of them on my right side, like my arm, as you saw… it, uh, detaches." She tapped her right temple, "And my vision. It sort of has settings?" Every word coming out of her mouth felt false. "Like thermal vision," she muttered, "That was how I knew the hatch was there. It's warmer than anything else in this room—except for us, of course."

"Why did you not tell me?" Pavel asked.

"I was worried about how you'd react." Dillan winced as he crossed his arms. "Please, I didn't want you to find out in such a… unnatural way."

"Did you ever want me to know?" He got up slowly, brushing the sand off his pants.

There was this, and then there was the other thing. Her upbringing on a prison colony—people would gossip about that. Rumours would spring up: made-up stories about her childhood and who she really was.

People would think she was a criminal, which wasn't true. But their assumptions would be enough. They always were.

"No, I didn't." She'd made up her mind. "I'm sorry." She would tell Kirk the truth about Aguas tomorrow. Maybe a week from then. But she'd do it.

"Looks like a long drop," Kirk said, staring down through the open hatch. "But we got lucky: there's a ladder."

No: if they got through this, she'd tell him—and Pavel—tomorrow. Her captain and her best friend: they both deserved to know. Scotty too, needed to hear it from her.

"Okay," Kirk said as Dillan leaned over the metre-wide hole in the ground. "We should test the depth by throwing something-" He stopped as Dillan dropped her arm down the chute.

"Or you could just do that."

"Shhh!" Dillan put a finger to her lips, then turned her right ear towards the sound. They were silent for a moment as she listened. The silence stretched out, with Dillan leaning further and further over the hole. Kirk extended his arm towards her, lest she went too far.

Dillan closed her eyes as the sound waves climbed their way up to her ear drum. She hummed, made her calculations, and spat out a response.

"Eighteen seconds…" She got up and brushed off her hands. "That's about 100 metres deep."

Pavel and Dillan stepped back as Kirk clambered into the hole.

"When I get to the bottom, I'll call you two," he said.

Pavel took up the first aid kit. She would need her one arm free for the climb down.

"We are going to follow you no matter what you say," Pavel said, shooting Kirk a half-smile.

Kirk stared at the two of them for a second, then rolled his eyes. "Fine then," he said, a playful smirk crossing his face.

Kirk went quickly, nearly skimming down the rungs in dropping as fast as his hands would allow. Dillan, on the other hand, currently only had _one._ Since the ladder hugged the wall, she was faced with the task of stepping down, quickly releasing then reattaching her grip in an unsteady succession. Each time she did this her stomach gave a little lurch.

"Can you not _go_ any faster?" Pavel grumbled. They'd only gone down twenty rungs at this point.

"No," Dillan spat, "On account of me having only _one arm."_

Pavel went silent. Had he really forgotten so quickly?

They descended in silence for some time. Beads of sweat appeared on Dillan's forehead.

"Is there a way you can reattach it?" he finally asked.

"Not here!" She grunted, catching herself before she tilted too far back on the ladder. "All my tools are on the ship. Won't be able to until we get back there."

"Oh."

They went down three more rungs—somewhat faster than before.

"I'm sorry," Pavel said.

Dillan paused, letting her body swing out into the centre of the tunnel, arm stretched out completely straight. She shook her head. "I'm sorry too. You had a right to know."

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," Pavel confessed. He stepped down on the rung where her hand had been just moments ago.

"That's sweet of you to say," Dillan mumbled, recalling the stunned silence and horrified expression she'd gotten from him. "But it's about what I expected."

She heard a soft noise from above, and realized he was laughing.

"That is true." He chuckled, adjusting the first aid pack slung around his shoulders. "I also have many questions to ask you."

"I have a feeling everyone will," Dillan said. "But I'll answer yours first."

They both went quiet after that, and continued their descent in silence.

* * *

Kirk held the light up high as they neared the bottom of the ladder. Dillan wasn't aware of the three feet of space between the last rung and the ground; she realized it too late, her feet hitting empty air at just the wrong moment.

Kirk caught her before her butt hit the ground, clasping one hand around her wrist, the other on the shoulder of the same arm.

"Thanks," she said as Pavel dropped to the ground after her. "Seen my arm around?"

He started at her question, then remembered and shone the light around them.

The pause took too long. Dillan turned around on her heels and scanned the edge of the darkness. Her heartbeat increased; blood rushed to her face.

Kirk powered on his phaser. Pavel did the same, once he realized what was taking her so long.

"Are there any tracks?" Pavel asked.

Dillan shook her head, moving on to establish the next, no-less-hysterical order of events: the fact that something had caused her arm to disappear.

The logical assumption that they weren't alone down here.

* * *

The ladder was located at the tunnel's end—or what they assumed was an end, so they went forward in the only direction it allowed.

Dillan trudged in silence between the Captain and her friend. She'd assessed the situation and had already moved on to how she'd build another arm. But as pragmatic as she knew her tendencies were, they still didn't address the creepy sensation of being watched, despite there being nowhere they could be watched from.

The tunnel seemed to be made of the same metal as the dome above, leaving her vision as limited as anyone else's.

As they went walked, the search party moved closer and closer together, Kirk and Pavel's hands never straying too far from their blasters.

The one good thing to come out of this so far was that Kirk had picked up on Spock's signal a while back. But even with that small victory, there was still no communication from the ship.

As of now, the search party had one constant in their lives: the beeping from Kirk's communicator. Dillan had turned off her right ear after two minutes. Despite the device telling them where Spock was, she couldn't stand the sound of it.

Then the steady, low-pitched beeping suddenly became erratic, screaming its way into their ears. Kirk went to check it, but his communicator died right at that moment.

"Shit," Kirk muttered. "First the torch, now this?"

"What?" Dillan murmured, almost half-asleep in what remained of the bluish light.

"Nothing," he said, trying to keep her morale up. Pavel was already leaning into the wall for support.

"No, no, no, you did." Dillan could see him perfectly, despite what he'd just said. "The light—you said it went out. How long ago?"

"What does it matter?" he said, "Can one of your eyes turn into a flashlight?"

"The light," Dillan whispered, pointing ahead of them.

Kirk followed her finger and looked ahead.

A complete contrast to the red sand that covered the surface of the planet: cool, blue light. And it wasn't coming from the torch they'd brought.

They picked up their pace, moving towards the source of the light at the end of the tunnel…

…to enter a room the size of the Enterprise itself.

Entrances identical to the one they'd just come through lined the walls. Dillan couldn't begin to imagine where they all lead. Each at least 10 feet tall, they all grew into tunnels went off in different directions under the planet's surface. An underground maze.

"Spock!" Kirk called, and Dillan redirected her attention to the centre of the atrium.

There, chained to a circular dais, was the landing party. One of the conscious members lifted his arm in a weak salute.

While Pavel and Kirk sprinted towards them, Dillan held back. She scanned every inch of the arena, inspecting each door to see if there were any attackers hiding in some well-placed shadow. And, more importantly, to see if her missing arm was present.

Before following the others, she scuffed an X into the ground in front of their entrance. Then, turning in a slow circle, she walked the fifty feet from tunnel exit to dais.

As for the landing party, Spock, and his aide-de-campe, Bennet, looked no worse for wear, sporting only mild bruises as far as Dillan could see. But she winced at the nasty gash across Ensign Idell's forehead.

"How long has she been unconscious?" Kirk asked. While he destroyed the chains with shots his blaster, Pavel unlocked the first aid kit. A crude form of imprisonment, Dillan noted.

"She has been unresponsive for as long as I have been awake, perhaps even longer," Spock said, rubbing the chafe marks around his wrists. The fabric of their thermo-suits had been torn by the restraints.

"-And before you ask," Bennet said, "No, we didn't see who brought us here. We got knocked out with some kind of gas, I think." He waved his freed hand around his head. "We got to the bottom of the ladder, and just _bam_, out." He pointed to Idell. "She was the last to climb down… She must've had a worse landing."

"So you went into the bunker too," Kirk said.

Their conversation faded away as Dillan went over to Idell. Pavel had the first aid kit open and was running a scanner around her head.

"What's the problem?" Dillan asked, crouching down on one knee.

"Well, she is unconscious, for a start," Pavel quipped.

"Not the time," Dillan said.

"True. But I am not a medical professional, so my assumptions based off of these readings are… minimally helpful." He sighed.

"Hmm." Dillan rubbed her thumb along the edge of the wound. It came away red and wet. "If she's badly concussed—concussed at all, really—then we need to wake her up. Got anything in that fancy kit of yours?"

"There is a rejuvenator bar in every Starfleet-issued first aid kit."

They both looked up at Spock. He stared pointedly at the stump that was Dillan's right shoulder, then knelt down and nudged Pavel out of the way.

"Keep her head level and make sure her tongue does not block her windpipe," he said to Dillan while rummaging through the kit.

"Are you sure you don't want the person with two han—okay, on it." She flinched away from his dangerously serious stare and did as he ordered.

Pavel, Kirk, and Bennet built a back-to-back perimeter around them as Spock worked.

Eventually, he produced a blue and green bar from the kit. He snapped a piece off the blue end and held it under Idell's nose.

They waited. Two seconds passed.

Idell opened her eyes, coughing directly into Dillan's face. Dillan held strong, moving her one arm to support the woman's shoulders.

As Idell woke up from the dregs of whatever nightmare she'd been subjected to, Spock wordlessly wrapped a bandage around her head.

She flinched when he tightened it sharply, muttering, "You couldn't have done that when I was asleep?"

Spock simply raised an eyebrow, closing the med kit with a snap.

"All right, Ensign?" Kirk called over his shoulder.

"Awake and breathing, Captain." Taking in the people who had come to rescue them, Idell attempted to get to her feet. She promptly fell back down against the dais. Dillan helped her back up while she pointed a shaky hand at her stump. "Aren't you supposed to have an arm there?"

Dillan sighed, then let Bennet take over on paladin duty.

"We'll have to go back the way we came," Kirk said. He pointed to one tunnel exit, then paused. He turned to a different one. They all looked the same.

Dillan pointed towards the right exit. "It's that one. There should be a mark on the ground next to it."

As they moved out, Bennet and Pavel supporting Idell, Spock on watch with a blaster in hand, Kirk clapped a hand on her shoulder. "That's why we need you here."

Even though she was down an arm, Dillan couldn't help but smile.

* * *

They traveled in a close-knit group, surrounding the injured Ensign on all sides. In what seemed like a stroke of luck (though she suspected it was something more), Kirk's torch had started working again upon their arrival in the atrium. She could only hope it would last long enough for them to get back to the ladder.

All was well until they hit the fork in the road.

"Two tunnels," Kirk said, placing his hands on his hips. "There are _two_ of them now."

Dillan walked past him up to the divider. She placed her hand on the surface, and removed it just as quick. The metal wall—if that's what it was even made of—was hot to the touch.

This hadn't been here before.

She reached around to her right ear and tapped a spot on the lobe. Her hearing amplified by three measures. Listening to the tunnel on the right, she caught the diversion of airflow going up the ladder chute.

"To the right," she and Spock said in unison. They both stared at each other. Bennet and Pavel stared at Dillan in a sort of frightened amazement. Idell, gripped on to the two of them for support, struggling to just keep her head up.

Kirk looked from Spock to Dillan. "I'm going to trust both of you on this."

Everyone but Spock and Dillan walked towards the right fork. Spock watched, mildly interested, as Dillan closed her eyes, her head twitching towards the tunnel on the left.

"Hey!" Kirk called back to them, his voice echoing through the tunnel. "What's the hold up?"

Spock raised his hand. "The cadet seems to be hearing something else."

"Well, you're not wrong," Dillan said through grit teeth. "There's something else down there." The shape the air made by flowing around it sounded… familiar.

She set off at a brisk pace, trailing her fingers against the left side of the wall.

Spock caught up to her in seconds, unhooking the torch from his belt and switching it on. She expected him to comment on her actions in his infuriatingly passive aggressive way, but for the second time that day, he surprised her.

"What are you searching for?" he asked, not an ounce of vitriol in his voice.

Dillan continued, shuffling her feet even slower the further they went down the tunnel.

"My arm," she murmured.

He kept pace with her, saying, "I wasn't aware that you were able to remove it."

"When the situation requires…" She paused, and her eyes snapped open. Her foot hit something that stood out against the smooth surface of the floor. She crouched down. Her fingers brushed up against cool, familiar metal. She gripped her right arm by the wrist and lifted it.

It held easily in one hand. Lightweight, despite being made from the hull of her home station

"You did not leave it here?" Spock inquired.

Dillan looked at him. "The rhetorical nature of that question is unbecoming of you, Commander."

He opened his mouth to respond, but in that moment, they both looked down the tunnel.

A gust of wind blew dust and dirt past their faces. Dillan shielded her eyes until it had passed. With the wind came a low and mournful wail, rising to a terror-filled crescendo as it reached their ears.

A number of synapses fired off in Dillan's brain. Her eyes widened.

She poked Spock with her unattached arm.

"Let's get back before this tunnel disappears."

* * *

Kirk was ready to be angry when they caught up to the core group, but he snapped his mouth shut once he saw Dillan carrying her right arm.

He expected her to look overjoyed, but all he saw on her face was a desperate need to get out of there.

Spock didn't meet his eyes, ushering everyone up the ladder.

* * *

The first thing she noticed upon climbing through the hatch was the silence. The dome somehow seemed less inviting when a sandstorm wasn't raging outside.

Dillan waited by the wall while Pavel and Bennet helped Idell up the ladder. She saw Spock come over in her periphery, registering his presence with the dip of her chin.

"I think if we open the door our comms should work again," Dillan said.

"I agree."

With the pair of them working together—or maybe it was because the storm had stopped—they found the one unsmoothed edge that signified the dome's door, inching it open by using her arm as a lever.

Dillan grimaced as the skin grafts on the fingers tore under the strain. There would be no fixing that.

The moment they opened the door and hesitantly stepped outside, their comms erupted with activity. Dillan handed hers off to Kirk, who began the task of assuring all the necessary people that yes, they were all indeed alive.

She walked out into the open air, keeping a firm grasp on her arm.

Kirk put out a call for them to be beamed back to the ship. They'd come back for the shuttle another day.

Bennet helped Idell sit down while Pavel went over to Dillan.

Spock watched them talk. Pavel gestured to her arm. After a moment, the serious expression on her face broke into a smile.

* * *

_Recipient: Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise_

_Re: Dillan Chasidy_

_Commander Spock,_

_It has come to our attention that you have a member of the Alka Correctional Facility aboard your ship. For the time being, and for the sake of productive communication, we have declassified the files regarding this project. Please take the necessary time to inform yourself on this matter, so that we may be in agreement on its severity._

_We would like to arrange a time to speak with you at your earliest convenience. Until that is set, please send us any outstanding documents regarding Ms. Chasidy._

_I would also personally recommend detaining this individual until further notice._

_Mazer Rain_

_Co-Executive Coordinator_

_Interplanetary Information Bureau_

* * *

**Yuuki no Yuki: **Yes, now he knows! And I think they will grow closer because of it :) Thank you, as always, for reviewing!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: An in-between chapter, but important nevertheless. Thank you to those new followers for joining me on this adventure, I hope you all like this latest edition :) On a side note, I hope everyone is home and as safe and secure as they're able to be right now. I know this is just a silly little fanfic, but it gives me some much-needed escapism (like most of the other media I'm consuming right now), so I hope it can do some of the same for you as well.**

Chapter 9: The Walls Need to Fall

* * *

Each hit felt off somehow. Dillan couldn't help but notice it.

Every time her fist sunk into the leather of the punching bag, she felt a click in her right shoulder.

In the weeks after that day on Sezium, it hadn't changed, despite being properly reattached. But she knew it wasn't something with the hardware. She'd been stressed as of late.

She lashed out again, this time with her left, human arm. _Thunk_, and the bag swung into the air.

Pavel had been so understanding in the end… All those weeks of stressing about him, only for it to come out all at once.

Well, not all of it. She still had one major lie she'd kept going.

But they could never find out about that one. In wiping every traceable slice of data from Aguas' archives, she'd made sure of that.

She punched again with her right arm. This time, the click didn't seem so pronounced. But now there was a tear in the bag.

While the skin grafts gave off the _appearance_ of human skin, what lay underneath was metal, pure and simple, constructed from scraps torn off the walls of her birth station.

"Careful," a voice said from beside her, "You might punch right through it."

Dillan turned her head at the amiable tone of Sulu's voice.

"Sorry," she said, wincing at the tear. "Just lost track of time, I guess."

"Mhmm?" He crossed his arms, but kept a relaxed stance. "You know, Pavel was asking about you."

Her right ear opened up, trying to replay what he'd said. Her chest fluttered. "Really?"

"Yeah. He, ah… he seemed nervous."

"Oh. Weird. I wonder why." Dillan fidgeted with the index finger on her right hand. Sulu looked away, stomach flattening up against his spinal cord as she slowly twisted it a full 360 degrees in its socket.

"You're really not catching my drift, are you?" He looked to be halfway to a complete laughter meltdown.

She'd do her cool down stretches in a minute. Then a quick shower back at her room for the 1200 shift.

"Uhh, I didn't realize there was one _to_ catch." She attempted a smile. What on earth was he referring to?

"Chekov," Sulu said. "The navigator of this ship: he messaged me because you hadn't shown up for lunch yet."

Dillan nearly fell backwards in a whoosh of vertigo.

_Shit, shit, shit_—how could she have forgotten?!

In a matter of seconds, Dillan thanked Sulu, gathered her things, and sprinted out of the gym.

There wasn't any time to shower or change—she was already fifteen minutes late.

She nearly crashed into someone—blue uniform, black hair, reaching out for her—as she sent a message to him while sprinting down the hall.

_D_Chasidy: Completely forgot, on my way: save me a seat!_

They'd agreed to have lunch a week ago, just as friends. It wasn't anything major—just the last time their schedules would coincide for the month.

Just friends… right? She thought that's all it was: a lunch shared between two friends.

Sweaty and red-faced, she burst into the caf. A dozen pairs of eyes went her way, followed by a series of whispers, but all Dillan saw was the figure abruptly stand up in the far left corner.

She waved awkwardly, and Pavel returned the gesture, a smile already on his face.

"Just to set things straight," she said, sitting down beside him. "I was not _purposefully_ avoiding you." She tapped her finger against his food tray. "It was a complete and disastrous accident."

"I think your message speaks for itself," Pavel said and gestured to her plate.

"_Oooohh_." Dillan centred it in front of her. "What is _this_?"

"This is called stroganoff," Pavel said. "Something that originates solely in Russia—and can now be made at most Starfleet bases," he admitted sheepishly.

"It looks delicious," Dillan said, rolling a fork between her hands.

Sitting at the table across from theirs, Dillan saw Uhura raise her eyebrows suggestively. Dillan rolled her eyes and turned back to Pavel.

He watched her eat, taking bites of his own food whenever she looked his way.

Now that he knew she was more than human, he noticed things about her that hadn't stood out before. Like how her right hand held the spoon _completely _still when she used it to twirl a loop of spaghetti. Or how her hip seemed to dip down far too much each time she took a step. Or how insanely nonchalant she was about climbing into a pitch-black air duct.

He'd known the third one beforehand. You didn't need to know everything about Dillan to understand what kind of person she was.

Pavel had been lucky enough to find them a scrap of table that wasn't occupied. But as a couple of reds—likely security by the builds of them—walked up, he had a feeling that their alone time was about to end.

"Cadet Chasidy?" One of them, a tall, lean officer who went by Marks, asked.

Dillan and Pavel turned at the sound of her name. Ten metres away, Uhura—dining alone for once—did the same.

"Hi?" Dillan said. Pavel saw her shoulders tense.

"You need to come with us," Marks said.

"Why, is there something wrong with the work I did today? Did Mr. Scott send you?"

Everyone pretending not to listen knew there was something up. All crew aboard a Starfleet-issued ship had a communicator on them at all times. If there really was an emergency, there wouldn't be a close guard sent to escort her.

"No," Marks said. "You just need to come with us. Captain's orders."

You couldn't just ignore that—not here.

"Well, alright then," Dillan laughed nervously. She got up, patted her hands on her thighs, and gave Pavel a reassuring smile. "Save some food for me, 'kay?"

He nodded, watching as they escorted her from the cafeteria.

* * *

Dillan really wished she'd been able to change. Her sweaty shirt clung to her back and pits like glue. The room itself was cold.

_Is this what Mom meant when she talked about a questioning?_ It certainly seemed to fit the bill: metal table plus two chairs; one door and a wall she was nearly positive hid a security screen; not to mention the crushing loneliness meant to smoke her out.

She avoided looking at the definitely-not-a-wall for too long, instead training her eyes on the table in front of her. There wasn't even a display on it to tell her how much time had gone by.

The door she'd been brought through opened, and the first person she expected walked in.

Spock didn't look as smug as she'd always imagined he would. Was that because of his Vulcan half, or was it just an interrogation technique?

"I deserve to know why I was brought here," Dillan began before he even sat down. "I have rights; you owe me that much."

Spock sat down and in a cold statement, answered her question while simultaneously posing another:

"Your rights…" he said, "Have been temporarily suspended."

Dillan crossed her arms. "You're joking."

"I do not make jokes."

"Don't sell your species so short," she said. "I once knew a Vulcan who was quite the comedian." She had. She'd been a rarity among the inmates—and her own kind. Whether her dark sense of humor had come before or after her incarceration, she never knew.

"I find it highly unlikely that one of the Vulcan order would have been sent to an undocumented prison," Spock said.

Here is not where her world came crashing down. For Dillan, that would not come for many months—and at a much greater cost. Here, her right pinkie finger curled in towards her palm; her ring finger did not follow. She blinked twice and answered with surprising speed.

"Well, I suppose no one race is perfect—even if they do try so hard to be."

She knew the insult was an obvious shield—and she hated it.

"So you admit to lying about the true purpose of your home planet?"

Dillan sighed. "Not even you could pull an answer like that out of thin air. How did you find out?" Before he could respond, she muttered, "Someone told you… Some flags raised—probably after my citizenship test." She'd known that had been a risk.

Kirk walked in and she stopped talking to herself. They shared a look: his of a disapproving parent, hers of a sheepish teenager.

He waited in the corner while Spock continued to question her.

"How much of your body is human?"

"About sixty percent." Dillan cocked her head, eyes closing as she spoke. She hoped they would mistake her weariness for nonchalance.

"Are you a threat to the people aboard this ship?"

"No more than they are to me."

Spock went silent, looking her right arm up and down.

"What do I need to say to make you believe me?" Dillan groaned. "God, you want the details, don't you?"

"If you could." The first time Kirk had spoken. All business, and not an ounce of sympathy.

"Forty percent synthetic; metal, advanced prosthetic—whatever you want to call it." She rattled it off like every other time—except now she was actually talking to someone.

"Those terms are not mutually exclusive," Spock interrupted.

Dillan nodded, "Yes, but in my case, there's a bit of everything." Her eyes went to her skin grafts. They'd started out as real skin, but it wasn't hers.

She took a deep breath, extending her fingers and rotating her shoulders in their sockets. "My right leg, arm, retina, optic nerve, ear canal, most of my chest, and the sensory runways that connect those parts to my brain were all put in after I was born. Ten years after, to be specific."

"Why?" said Spock. Dillan wondered who else was watching them. She doubted that it was being broadcast to the entire ship, but expected someone to be observing just outside the door.

"They were forced on me. To save—or as it thought: to prolong my life."

"Again: why?" She couldn't get anything from his expression.

"Why save me? Probably because I was dying? Or do you mean vhy _bother_ saving me? If it's the latter, I don't know. I didn't get a chance to ask it."

She noticed the tic in Kirk's face when she mentioned 'it.' Dillan didn't have much stake in holding back anymore.

"Did you kill the people on your station?"

This one surprised her. It was completely preposterous.

"_No_," she sneered. "I vas _ten years old_."

The more she spoke, the more her accent began to slip out. It was how her mother had always spoken; softly, with a whisper that wove its way through certain consonants.

After the near-annihilation of Station MIKA, she'd taken the time to copy a more Earth-American accent from a tv series one of the guards had torrented.

"Age is irrelevant in this context." He had a point.

"I was ten…" she muttered, "And barely alive. I had to be carried everywhere until the upgrades had properly connected with my system."

"Carried?" Kirk said. "By who?"

* * *

Bones glanced over his shoulder as the door to the observation room slid open.

Scotty gave him a quick nod as he entered.

They stood, side by side, staring into the room through a screen that covered an entire wall. Jim and Spock's backs were to them, but they could see Dillan, face ashen and shoulders tensed.

_"No one…"_ Dillan said, shirking her gaze towards the floor. _"I shouldn't have said that."_

"She confirmed it…?" Scotty asked.

"Yep." Bones kept crossing and un-crossing his arms, eyes trained on Dillan's right hand. Every time they asked her a question, the fingers twitched.

"Gaah…" Scotty turned away from the screen. He couldn't walk away now. As her direct superior, he had to be here. It had also been his job to catch on to this sort of lie.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," said Bones, simultaneously doing the exact same thing. "There was no way… We couldn't have known something the only person involved in was keeping from us."

Barely taking his words into account, Scotty turned around. Bones watched Spock get out of the chair and walk around the table towards Dillan.

They heard him say, _"We have little reason to trust your word."_

"What is he-" Bones stopped as he saw what was happening.

Scotty turned around just in time to see Spock reaching for Dillan's face. Bones grabbed his arm to stop him from going for the door.

* * *

Dillan leaned back in the chair, eyes focusing in on the ceiling. Pristine to the point of obsession.

She shivered when he placed his fingers over her left cheek. She supposed that they knew to go for that side, it being the most human after all.

Spock looked to Kirk, who nodded sombrely.

"This will only take a moment," Spock said, but based on what she had read, Dillan knew, that from her perspective, it would seem like much more than that.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This one's a doozy ya'll… It's the chapter where we finally get to see what really happened on Aguas, but it's also probably the darkest in the whole fic. **TW:** body horror, brief descriptions of child mutilation. I keep it brief, but it does get a bit specific. Just thought everyone should know since this is a departure from what's normally in this fic.**

Chapter 10: Rec Room

* * *

When described to anyone else, Dillan and Spock's mind-meld would be a flash of images and sound, each one carrying its own emotional weight. On the outside, it seemed to last only a few seconds.

* * *

_Day 1_

Mom was already awake when the alarm went off.

Dillan sat up on her mat at stared at her. She sat facing a corner, legs crossed, fiddling with something in her lap. From what she'd told Dillan, this was where their room's 'blind spot' was. Privacy in a place like this was not taken lightly by them.

The length and width of their room were two Dillan-sized cartwheels each. The ceiling, approximately three handstands. (She'd had to estimate that one.) At ten years old, the toilet, sink, and cot were all she'd ever called her own.

"Hey there, sunflower." Mom got up, crossed the room, and sat down next to her. "How was your sleep?"

Dillan shrugged and turned in the cot to face the wall. Mom proceeded to braid her hair into two long plaits, picking a few pieces of lint off of her jumpsuit in the process.

"This is about last week, isn't it?"

Dillan sighed. The two of them didn't look alike. Dillan took after her father in appearance, Mom always said, and hopefully after _her_ in heart.

"I'm sorry I lost track of you—I—you know I would _never_ voluntarily let that—" she growled, "that _monster _put her hands on you."

Dillan turned her head to look at her Mom's black curly hair. Pulled tight to her scalp, it flared out at the base of her ponytail in a beautiful, tangled mess. Dillan's hair always fell past her shoulders in limp, greasy strands.

Breakfast came in its customary, compostable containers. Yellow mush with a side of green goo. And some water—their jailers weren't monsters.

"Don't pick at your food," Mom said, then proceeded to pick through her own food. Dillan got through the yellow, but passed on the greens. They drank their waters in one go, simultaneously slamming their cups down on the floor.

"Beat you," Dillan said. Mom just smiled.

Later, Dillan held her hand as their corridor was escorted to the single recreational area on Level C. They walked in silence, slippers scuffing quietly against the floor.

Dillan waved to the guards at the end of each new corridor. Most of them waved back.

At one point, she glanced up at Mom. Dillan rotated her wrist in her iron grip as she followed her line of sight to the front of the line. To her:

_Winston._

Their corridor was composed entirely of women. Although, with her slack jaw and matted grey curls, many assumed she was more ghoul than human. The guards kept her at the front—where they could really keep a close eye on her. Dillan knew better than most how fast she could really be.

Mom had once told her what everyone in their corridor had done to be put in here. But she'd never told her what Winston had done.

The Rec Room had ten-foot high walls, a different environment projected onto each one.

A green place with thin, flapping leaves molded from code. The forest almost seemed claustrophobic, just with the possibility of escape—unlike their home.

Sharp white spikes populated the second wall. This picture dipped inward, making it look like there was another cell inside there, only it was covered in a white blanket. Mom said the spikes were really solidified water. Dillan sometimes wondered if she could eat one like a carrot, or if it would simply melt after she'd touched it.

An empty expanse—much like Aguas' surface, except where every grain was gold instead of blue, and where the colour was really made up of ones and zeroes. The golden plain stretched out as far as the screen allowed it, ending at a horizontal line that separated it from the sky. Dillan couldn't quite remember the name of that dividing line.

The fourth wall—the one where they entered the Rec Room—was blank. A malfunction, Mom said, that they didn't have the money to fix.

The walls were a fantasy, anyways. Mom said that hardly anyone on their floor had been to a place like the ones they depicted—one that lacked the Federation's poisonous touch.

_"Hey, pickle!"_

Dillan braced herself as Abbot bounded over and swept her into a hug.

"Careful now," Mom said, stretched out on a bench pressed against a wall. "That's _my _kid."

"Mhmm?" Abbot hummed, setting Dillan back down on the ground. "Here," she said to her. "Make a story with these."

Dillan took the cards from her open palm and sat down. On one, a faded picture of a woman holding some sort of weapon. The other had a man on it; he looked like he'd sooner steal your food than give you more.

Dillan didn't see many men in their section. Only a couple of the guards were male, and they stayed even more stone faced than the women. When she wondered about her father, she couldn't picture him in one of their uniforms, holding one of their weapons.

Abbot went over and sat beside Mom's head. While Dillan pretended to occupy herself with the painted cards, Abbot began to stroke Mom's—whose real name was Kelly—hair.

Kelly stopped her on the third stroke, holding Abbot's smoke-stained fingers in her own.

"Don't," she said. "They're watching me closer today."

"I'm sorry," Abbot murmured, switching her gaze to Dillan, crouched on the ground just a few feet from them. "For last week, mostly." She turned away and coughed into the crook of her elbow. "You were on a job, and I got distracted and I shouldn't have let that bitc-" She took a deep breath. "Winston should never have gotten so close to her. I'm sorry, Chasidy."

Kelly shook her head, the tie of its ponytail digging into her scalp. "Don't beat yourself up over it. I should have never—" she paused, then murmured, "She's not your responsibility." Kelly sighed, "Mother always said I was more cut out for the military than childbirth."

Abbot laughed, her heavy bark drawing the attention of a few.

"I still wonder if I… Clark's offer—it would have spared her from all this," Kelly said, her voice barely above a whisper.

It was too late for that. She'd chosen to keep Dillan here with her, and keep her she had.

The sensation of a laugh—light, but somehow filling at the same time—died in Abbot's throat.

"Where is Winston now?" Kelly asked.

Glancing up, Abbot muttered, "Three o'clock, twenty paces, talking to Adams and Marcel."

Hands clasped behind her back, chin dipping on occasion, but otherwise motionless, back hunched and unmoving—a statue but for the movement of her lips and the occasional flick of her eyes. A creep if Abbot ever knew one.

"Keep an eye on her," Kelly said, sitting up on the bench. "I'm going to talk to the guards."

She got up and crouched down next to her daughter. They spoke quietly for a minute, the conversation ending when Kelly ruffled her hair. Dillan only nodded, face as solemn as ever.

Kelly crossed the floor, head held high, to the female guard stationed at the door.

Abbot looked between Kelly's daughter and Winston, the latter of which who was still talking, still motionless.

"Hey," she said, going over to Dillan. "Time's up—I want my story now." She grinned as Dillan raised both of the cards. She opened her mouth to speak, when the whole room jerked sideways.

"Whoa!" Abbot stifled a curse, immediately drawing Dillan towards her. Several cries surfaced through out the room as the prison—could it really be the whole station?—rocked back and forth in limbo.

Dillan whimpered, and Abbot held her even tighter.

A light went out, then two more. The silence inside the darkened rec room was suffocating.

After the longest heartbeat of her life, the lights turned back on.

It took nearly a minute for her to feel steady on her feet again, and by then, the guards were yelling at them to get up.

The event had her mind racing. She thought of the seismic tremors some planets experienced, though maybe in Aguas' case, it was a tsunami.

Whispers of a malfunction surfaced as they were herded from the rec room. Even quieter whispers, as they shuffled back into their cells, of an escape attempt.

Abbot handed Kelly her daughter through the legs of their fellow inmates. A guard noticed when she began to hold up the line—not wanting to let Dillan go until she was safe and secure with Kelly—and shouted at her to get a move on.

Even at ten years old, the lacklustre prison meals did her little good. The daughter couldn't have weighed more than the packs of explosives they used to chuck back and forth across Federation docking bays.

The guard's baton came down on her shoulder, causing Abbot to stumble.

"I'm going!" she said, shoving her hand into the guard's chest. She toppled backwards by Abbot's strike. A few inmates shot glances their way.

Another guard strutted up, yelling at her to keep in line.

What line? she shouted back at them, spit flying from her mouth. What's going on? she said.

The batons fell again, to her shoulders and arms—arms already raised to protect her head—and she pushed back against them, hoping that Kelly had made it back to her cell alright.

Soon enough, other inmates joined the fight, which drew more guards, these ones with spikes in their batons, into the midst.

That night, with a broken arm and a black eye, Abbot found herself locked in a solitary chamber on Station MIKA's lowest floor. Six days later, she would die in an explosion set off by her only friend.

* * *

During the night of Day one, Dillan climbed into Mom's lap to hide. Rumblings and screams reverberated up from MIKA's lowest floors. Occasionally, the walls would shake, and she buried her head further into Mom's chest.

When Dillan finally fell asleep, Kelly set her down on their cot and went to the door of their cell. She knelt there for three hours, gripping a makeshift knife in her hands.

When morning arrived, the cell doors to Level C unlocked, and there were no guards to greet them.

* * *

_Day Three_

"We can't go outside."

"But _whyyyy?_"

"I already _told _you—it's not safe."

"I want to go to the Rec Room."

"You can play here."

"It's too SMALL!" Dillan screeched and flung their pillow at Kelly's face.

"Quiet!" Kelly whisper-yelled. She could only be thankful that it had been just the pillow. "Do you want them to know we're still here? Do you want them to find us?"

"I'm huuuungry!"

She tried to ignore the sound of her muffled sobs through the cot's fabric. Working as a fighter for her people had taught Kelly many things, patience being one of them. But how to raise a child that _shouldn't_ exist in a prison that technically _doesn't_, was not.

She put a hand over her stomach as it gurgled. One day without food wasn't too bad—for her. It would take a couple of days for her to start seeing double. But she worried for Dillan.

If anyone was to survive, it had to be her. Even though her sunflower hated the idea of rationing their drinking (formerly toilet) water, it was the only way to go.

The first night had been a thunderstorm—if it was possible for one of those to exist underwater and inside a station. The second had been eerily quiet.

She and Dillan had just escaped that initial riot, dashing into their cell as the first blows were struck. She'd seen Abbot go down, and her heart had lurched at the sight of her friend being dragged away. When whatever this was ended, Kelly would find her.

As the hours passed with increasing slowness, she went through a series of plans for escape.

On that first day—the day she'd been brought to Aguas—she had been marched past a security room and the storage centre. With wall-to-wall screens and enough provisions, you could monitor the entire station from in there without ever having to leave.

On what she hoped was the afternoon of the third day, Kelly stood up and woke her daughter.

"You're going to stay next to me the _entire way,_ understood?"

Her statement was met with a sleepy nod.

Sighing, she took Dillan's hand in hers and inched open their cell door.

* * *

Dillan remembered the corridor, a ladder leading them up, and another—nearly identical—corridor. There were a lot of people lying on the floor. Not asleep, Mom had answered. Not asleep at all.

The air smelled like the toilet when it stopped flushing. She didn't let go of Mom's hand. At least, not until the other people took her.

The second hallway—corridor—and they came across the crowd. Standing up, not-asleep, people.

The waiting became the worst of it. Told to hide in an empty cell while Mom went—

Did she fight them or did she flee? Dillan couldn't—

—Remember.

Mom stood between her and the crowd of ghouls, with Winston—_that_ Winston at their centre.

Kelly put Dillan into a new, empty cell and closed the door.

She pushed Dillan back to the way they'd come and moved on ahead.

She offered Dillan up in return for safe passage to the upper levels.

She stabbed them with their knife—her knife. She stabbed them with her_ knife_, right?

Right? Mom would have defended her. That's what Moms did.

They didn't just let strangers—

—take them.

* * *

Dillan screamed. Sharply, awake, and lasting only a second before her face went slack.

"Alright, that's enough." Scotty threw open the interrogation room door and stormed in.

"It's only been a couple seconds," Kirk said, though his face had gone pale.

Scotty went to pull Spock away from Dillan, sending a furious glance back at Bones, who was standing in the doorway. "And you can tell me that without a reasonable doubt this isn't hurtin' her?"

Bones swallowed, looking more out of his depth than he was allowed to be. "It's unlikely that whatever occurs will be permanent. …I also don't think it'd be wise to separate them now."

"Do ye hear the sounds comin' out of her, man?" Scotty cried, gesturing to him, Kirk, and the two tensed, would-be coma patients sitting by the table. "Isn't there a line about 'doing no harm'?"

"I'm sorry, Scotty," Kirk said. He offered up his chair. "But I know what it's like to go through one of those." He shook his head. "It's not something we want to go wrong."

After a moment, Scotty reluctantly accepted the chair, sinking into it with the force of an escape pod. He wouldn't look either of them in the eye, putting his hand on the table next to Dillan's. He, her guardian on her right, her interrogator on her left.

* * *

_Day Six_

If this had been real, Spock may have given in to his urge to retch.

One moment ago, he'd been with the ten-year-old Dillan, standing behind their—her?—mother as the crowd of inmates advanced.

Half a second went by, the child-Dillan's confusion rising with every heartbeat, and he was somewhere else.

Or, he guessed, _they_ were somewhere else—if you could call that pile of flesh and bone a child.

It—she?—lay on a folded-up blanket on the floor, tucked away in the corner of the rec room.

The rec room. Someone had barricaded themselves in there. Only one of the projectors still worked. The desert. But Spock was confined to where Dillan—or what parts of her hadn't been cut off—was, in the dark, empty corner, stuffed between two crates of MREs.

He saw—or rather, couldn't see—her right arm or leg. Just… stumps of body where her clavicle and pelvic bone thrust out. The right side of her faced seemed barely present, her ear and eye both missing. Her blond hair had been torn out in chunks, leaving behind matted blond clumps.

She should have died—by all sense of the world. And yet… They were both here, in the past, as well as in the present. Both alive, in spite of the odds.

Spock knew he should have felt her pain then, but his attention was drawn to a scraping sound from the other side of the room.

Winston—at least that was how Dillan knew her—the old woman from before. Ghoul, who had tried to take her nearly two weeks ago. What was her crime?

Dillan didn't know, so neither did Spock.

She knelt, hunched over a pile of scrap metal, building what looked like a doll with her bare hands. She crumpled something in her palm, and leaned closer to where the doll's mouth would be. Spock focused in on what she was holding, saw what it was, and turned away. He couldn't change what had already happened, and this monster wasn't his subject here.

Vulcans didn't experience smells during a mind-meld. They primarily felt emotions. Right now, he could practically taste Dillan's fear—and he rarely used metaphors like that.

About four and a half feet in length, Dillan's body trembled with each shaky breath she tried to take.

It was a little wonder why they had skipped ahead so far. At such a young age, blocking out the memories of the past few days must have been as instinctive to her as breathing.

Winston looked up from the doll, at the sound of a scraping on the door to the rec room. She pondered on whether or not to answer it. Probably just some of her scavengers, begging for a part of her takings.

She couldn't help it if they were hungry—her idea, her find, her property.

If only they'd managed to get the mother as well. She'd have made a nice addition.

The scratching continued, prompting Winston to look up from her project. She got up from her chair and went to the door.

_"Go away,"_ she said in her forceful, throaty voice, and the scratching stopped.

Finally, some peace. She couldn't stand when things made noise when she didn't want them to. Even the child had shut up after the first hour.

To Winston's frustration, the scratching started back up again. Louder this time too, which didn't help at all.

She opened her mouth, and was about to speak, but the door was suddenly not. There.

Pieces of it fell to her feet, other parts hanging off the still-intact hinges.

What stood—crouched, sat, lay?—on the other side peaked her sadistic interest, even as it pushed its metallic claws through her waiting chest.

* * *

_Day Seven._

Dillan named them Beast.

When she woke up, she thought she still might be asleep, because it was so dark and she could barely move.

But in their own way, Beast told her what they were, why they were there, and how they planned to help her.

Hurting so much for the past few days, Dillan knew she needed the help.

Beast worked and worked and worked, and eventually Dillan could feel her leg again. Her arm came back soon after.

They still hurt in the places where they'd been originally taken, but Beast assured her it was normal. It would go away in time.

Her hearing returned in full force—more so until Beast turned it down.

Finally, her eye.

The blind fold came off and Dillan supposed that if this was what she'd seen first, she never would have gotten to know Beast in the first place.

They had a large, globular centre, caved in in the parts where their legs came out. A cluster of screens ringed their centre, and displayed anything Dillan wanted to see.

She asked Beast to show her the forest again. The one that had once been on the wall next to her.

They weren't human, but they were far kinder to her than any of the ones who'd taken her from Mom.

Her new arm and leg looked much like the old ones. They had a soft, squishy skin. Like the rest of her, but underneath she felt parts that were harder than bone.

She wanted to walk and go find Mom. She wanted to introduce her to Beast, but they said she had to stay inside, where it was safe.

The process wasn't finished, they said. Just one more part and the job would be complete.

Beast never slept, so Dillan never had a chance to escape. Just like before, she was stuck between those four walls.

* * *

_Day Nine._

_Tic, tic, tic, _Beast said. They pushed the plate of rations towards Dillan. She turned up her nose, awkwardly shoving the plate away with her new hand.

"No. I already said: I don't want food!"

Beast scuttled back a few feet, retreating into one of the dark corners. Dillan almost felt bad, but chose not to show it.

_Tic, kr-ic tikk,_ Beast said, agitated. One of their spindly legs folded out, nudging the plate towards her.

"No!" She shrieked, jumping to her feet. "No!" She kicked the plate away. "No! No! NO!"

The light that lined Beast's core changed from green to red. They stretched up to their full height, rounded dome nearly brushing the ceiling.

_Tik._ Beast moved towards her, plate smashed into the ground by one of its pincers.

Dillan backed up into her own corner, bare feet sliding across the red floor. She stared up at Beast in fear.

The door to her left had remained unopened for the past three days—since Beast had taken Winston's place. This time she wasn't dreaming when it opened, and was able to see her savior.

* * *

Kelly took a series of actions in reclaiming her daughter.

One: throw the spark bomb at the android-parasite.

Two: grab Dillan and get the hell out of there.

Three: make for Level A.

The monster squealed and shrieked as the sparks flared up, distorting its thermal vision. They had about twenty seconds to get to the ladder and close the hatch behind them.

Kelly did that, clutching Dillan's tiny frame to her chest like she had when she'd been born. Dillan called out a couple of times, but Kelly didn't let that faze her. She wasn't about to let anyone get between them ever again.

They passed more people on their journey up. Some sitting, some lying down, even a few standing, barely registering them as they ran by.

At this point in the chaos, no one bothered them. Those who'd survived this long just wanted to be left alone to die.

By the time they reached Level A, Dillan was shivering from top to bottom. Apparently, the heat wasn't working in the rest of the station.

Mom noticed and drew a jacket she didn't used to have around her shoulders. Then she stared down at her.

Dillan followed her wide-eyed gaze down her own leg. A barely-visible line divided the old Dillan from the new.

"W- what?" Mom stuttered. But Dillan couldn't really explain, so she just pointed below them and said, "Beast."

Mom stared at her, then just shook her head and zipped up the jacket. It reached down to Dillan's toes, creating a warm cocoon of space for her inside.

She took Dillan's hand in hers, wincing at the strange feel of it, and led her to another room.

Like with Beast, screens covered every empty inch of the walls. Some of them showed places inside the station, while others were dark. Dillan wasn't sure which she preferred.

Mom pulled a chair over, its legs scraping against the floor. She unhooked the long piece of metal from behind her back and placed it on the dash. Dillan heard her mutter as she worked, but didn't understand any of the words.

"You stay here, alright?" Mom said.

It sounded like a question, but somehow, it wasn't.

She secured the jacket around Dillan's shivering body, then lifted her up onto the seat. Foreheads pressed against one another, they stared into each other's eyes.

"You understand me." Mom's hand brushed Dillan's ear, and the sound on that side increased slightly. "You stay here until I come back. Do not let anyone else in, Sunflower—not unless you hear our signal, okay?"

After a moment, Dillan nodded.

_"I understand, Mama,"_ she said, rapping her knuckles against the armrest. A beat she'd learned at a young age; their special knock.

Mom stepped back, nodded to herself, then grabbed the metal rod—something Dillan now recognized as one of the guards' weapons. She gave her one last look, as if she had more to say.

Dillan cheek felt wet. She realized it was the first real feeling she'd had since before Beast had saved her from Winston. She wanted to tell Mom, but she was already heading out the door, heaving it shut behind her.

Left behind with the screens; darkness but for their pockets of light. Sitting in her chair, so high off the ground her feet didn't even touch.

For a second, the walls seemed to shimmer. Streaks of gold shot up from floor to ceiling in a flash she barely remembered in the following days. After a week, she knew she was forgetting something, but couldn't recall what. After a month, the gold flash of light was gone from her memory forever, until one day a persistent First Officer would coax it from the recesses of her mind.

The station rumbled, and her chair skittered across the floor. Thrown from it, Dillan landed flat on her back, limbs splayed in all directions. All four of her limbs, which she could now feel every part of.

The rumbling would go on for some time, and this is where the important memories stopped.

Now, she saw a man. One who'd not been in the room two seconds prior. Not a guard, and definitely not a prisoner, with that strict haircut and blue shirt without any body armour.

Even after all he'd witnessed, Dillan didn't see much more than interest in Spock's face, if not a little understanding behind his eyes. She got up from the floor, readjusting the jacket around her shoulders.

She clambered back atop her chair, toes pointed towards the floor. Once seated, she stared at him, calmly registering his improbable presence inside her memory.

He looked to her right hand. It clutched the armrest in a grip that would leave behind a clear indent of her fingers. Then, having seen all he needed to (and some he wished he hadn't) he turned to leave.

* * *

"What happened after that?" Dillan let a breath out through her nostrils. "My mom went back down to the lower levels—where the monster was—and blew it all up." She gripped the rim of the bucket sitting in her lap, leaning in a bit closer than they would have liked.

"The rest is as follows: the rest of the stations—_prisons_—packed up and left. I assume because they feared that whatever was inside MIKA would come for them next. And of course, because I don't technically _exist_ they couldn't really be at fault for leaving me behind."

Spock had excused himself the moment after their connection was severed. Kirk uncrossed his arms and sat down across from her.

"You were the only one left alive," he said.

Dillan nodded. "There was no one else there when I got out of the security room. I assume my mom… killed all of them. Her or the beast." She straightened up and looked Kirk dead in the eyes. "I know who she was now. I know what she did for a living."

Kirk pulled up a file on his padd. "Kelly Warwick—known and wanted terrorist in six systems." He paused. "Self-proclaimed freedom fighter, though her enemies called her delusional. She played a part in bombings across multiple colonies. Her plan was supposedly to-"

"-irrevocably change the Federation's current order," Dillan finished. "The files were all on MIKA's servers," she said, noting Kirk's interested expression. "It took me a couple months to fully process it all."

She liked to think that the biggest change in her mother's personal 'order' had not been her arrest, but rather, meeting Dillan's father. A former guard in the women's sector.

"So there was no virus," Kirk said. "Just this… monster."

"I called them Beast," Dillan said. "They gave me this," she pointed to her right leg hidden underneath the table, "And _this,_" her right arm, "And replaced everything else Winston took."

Kirk looked away at the mention of it.

Dillan bridged her fingers together on the table in front of her. If you looked close enough, you might be able to see the slight difference in colouring. Her left hand just a bit darker than the right.

"Do you know how it was able to make all of these prosthetics? Or even _why_ it did it?"

Her shoulders tensed slightly. "No. But they did mention a 'next step' to the process." Dillan shrugged, folding her right hand atop her left. "Never got to see what that was though."

"Right. Of course." Kirk rubbed his eyes.

The heels of Dillan's feet tapped against the floor in an alternating rhythm.

"After about a month I figured out how to work the important parts of the station," she said. "Of course, that came with a lot of responsibilities—repairs, mainly." She pursed her lips briefly, then continued. "I don't know why I waited so long, but after the second month, I went out the top hatch." She sighed. "I could have drowned there… To this day I don't know how to swim." Leaning forward on her elbows, she stared down at the surface of the table.

_I was alone the first time I went outside._

Kirk sucked in a breath through his teeth. "I have to ask…" he said. "Why did you lie?"

Dillan tilted her chin up to him. A dangerous glint of humour crossed her gaze. She'd been waiting for him to ask.

"You assumed you were the first to come across my signal."

They all looked at each other. Kirk, Bones, Scotty—who hadn't been able to meet her eyes as of yet. Typical.

"You were close," she breathed. "Second place, I guess."

She shook her head. "About five years ago someone else picked up on it—my signal. Don't know who it was—only ever heard their voice—but…" She took a deep breath, "I told them the truth. Every. Single. Detail." She shook her head. "All to some stranger I couldn't even see. And they just… left. Ended the connection and flew away in whatever ship they'd probably stolen."

Without warning, she pushed back her chair, fingertips just holding onto the table's edge as she folded her head down in-between her arms.

"Can you imagine how devastating that was?" She said, voice muffled, directed towards the floor. "The first conversation I'd had in _years_ and they just pack up and leave."

When none of them said anything, she sat up abruptly and cried, "I was fourteen! I didn't want to be left behind again!"

She held out her hands, pleading with them—and anyone else watching. "The only thing I thought to do was lie."

She crossed her arms over her chest, shrinking back in her chair. "So I altered the transmission, practiced my accent, and kept on waiting."

The back of her gym shirt was soaked through with sweat. She scooted her chair close enough to the table so that she could settle into it comfortably.

"So can I go take a shower now?" she asked, "Or are you gonna keep me here all night?"

* * *

**Chiro08: **Thank you so much! That means a lot to me that you like it so much :)

**akagami hime chan: **It only gets more intense from here on out! (Kind of lol)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This chapter is a bit of an exhale after that last one—still one of my faves though. (Our girl Dillan finally opens up a bit—without the assistance of a mind-meld!)**

Chapter 11: Oh Just Let Me Wallow Already

* * *

"Now, I may have only minored in psychiatry, but I've been told this works better if we _both_ talk."

Scoffing, Dillan looked up at Bones. "If you're not qualified then why do they have you doing this?"

"Never said I wasn't qualified." _Just looking for some kind of response._

In the week following their discovery, Dillan had been mandated a number of follow-up interviews under the guise of them being therapy sessions.

There was little he could do to hide the truth. He knew what they were—and so did she.

A 'therapy session' to see if she was really like what they had on file about her mother.

Warwick hadn't been deranged—that had hardly been the problem. Her beliefs had just been rather… abstract for the Federation's preferences.

Dillan noticed him glance at the time, and asked "How much left?"

"'Bout ten minutes," he said.

Scotty, in a fit of anger, had left the interrogation room moments after she'd screamed. He had since avoided speaking to any of them on a conversational basis.

"How has work been?" Bones asked, tapping his fingers against his desktop display.

"Splendid." One word answers—plus the sarcasm—had become predictable at this point. _Jesus, it's like dealing with a teenager all over again._

_She's twenty,_ he reminded himself.

Christ. He'd been going through his second year of med school at twenty. His divorce and Starfleet still lightyears in the future.

'Splendid' was one way to describe it. (An inaccurate way.)

'Fine' muttered in a passive-aggressive tone that made it so obvious it wasn't would have been more accurate.

Stares from everyone and anyone outside her apartment, in the corridor, caf, gym, work, the lift.

She'd been five minutes late to last appointment after getting off five floors early. She'd taken a rarely-used stairwell rather then be stuck in a cylinder with half a dozen looks for another thirty seconds.

Rather than continue to face the caf, she'd taken her meals and breaks in the nearest empty corridor. She'd ghosted Sulu in the gym as well, and told Uhura she didn't have to tutor her anymore—despite there being a mock exam set to happen in three days.

She only showed up the the appointments that were mandatory—for example: work.

* * *

"You said you needed something?" Dillan yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Scotty finished typing up the calculation, then raised himself to her level. Glancing at his pads briefly before focusing on her, he said, "One of the ensigns came down with a case of pox. I need you to cover their shift." He scratched the back of his head, stifling a yawn.

"Sure," Dillan said, wondering if her CO ever really slept. "Where am I posted?"

He sighed. "Before I tell you, you have to know that I'm on your side about all this."

Dillan leaned away from him. "What's this about?"

Scotty stared at her. "What they found out…" he began. "That you—"

"—Lied." She finished.

"Yes, well—" He shifted his gaze from her to the floor.

"I'm on janitorial duty again, aren't I?" Dillan said. Just when she thought she'd gotten away from it.

"It wasn't my idea—" Scotty said, imploring her.

"Oh _really?_" She stalked away from him. "Don't worry!" She called over her shoulder. _"You'll get your floors cleaned!"_

Only once she'd left the sector did Scotty curse his own cowardice.

* * *

One bucket of cleaner later, and the transporters were ready for their calibration.

"Will you be much longer?"

Dillan looked up at the sound of Ensign Andrews' voice. She stood on the other side of the operator's display, hand perched on one hip. Stopping mid-scrub, Dillan spared a glance at her stomach. The uniform did little to hide the obvious, three-month-old swell.

"Just about," Dillan said dryly. She grabbed the swiper from her bucket and scraped any leftover spots off the display.

Andrews settled down into her chair with a whispered _oomph_, stretching her tired legs out beneath the desk.

"Do you know who's using it?" Dillan asked. She walked around to Andrew's side and leaned against the desk.

Andrews looked her up and down, focusing on the parts Dillan had come to expect. (Leg, arm, followed by head. They always looked at her face last.)

"Commander Spock is taking a team down to the planetoid we scanned the other day," she said. "Just for some samples.

Until a few months ago, Eliza Andrews had been moving along in her Starfleet career unnoticed. Then she and Venter—Academy sweethearts with the luck to be placed on the same ship—had received the news.

A pregnancy on a starship—while discouraged—was completely safe. They'd been assured this by the CMO, and yet she couldn't help but feel nervous about it. (That too, Doctor McCoy had said, was normal.)

Just as Dillan was about to leave, the landing party arrived. Spock, accompanied by his aide-de-camp Bennet, and an ensign Dillan didn't recognize. Andrews looked between her and the Commander, fingers drumming atop the transporter's desk.

Dillan averted her eyes and hid in the corner until Spock passed. She didn't notice the look he shot her way. Nearly surprised, and almost sympathetic. It was gone in a flash, noticed by no one. They went their separate ways without saying a word.

* * *

By the end of her day, to her relief, Dillan managed to find an empty lift to her floor. No one else boarded it in the four floor trip, and when the lift doors opened she found her hall deserted.

At least, until she rounded a corner, and saw Pavel standing outside her apartment door.

How long had he been waiting there? was her first thought.

He looked up as her footsteps stilled, curls swaying in front of his eyes.

She stepped back, causing him to jerk forward, holding out one hand.

"Wait!" he said. "I just want to talk to you!"

Dillan shook her head and ran back to the lift, closing the doors behind her before he could get inside.

* * *

Sulu found her an hour later, sitting on the floor of a nearly-condemned pathway leading between Caf and Gym A.

She sat with her head tucked against her knees, elbows covering her ears. She shifted, glancing at his feet as he sat down next to her.

Had he known about this way too? Since that first time she'd stumbled across it, Dillan had used this area to eat her meals on many a stressed afternoon.

Sulu let out a breath, tilting his head back against the wall.

Dillan moved her arms to her knees and propped her chin on top of them.

"I won't say anything else unless you want me to."

She sniffed, nodding in affirmation. Another mandated conversation and she'd start screaming at the top of her lungs.

"But I want you to know," he said, "that we're still on for Tuesday nights for as long as you still want to."

Her mouth opened, a sharp puff of air escaping her nose. After a moment, she leaned into him, relaxing for possibly the first time in the last week.

* * *

Showering—now that she did it regularly—had become second-nature to her.

Before, removing her arm had been an arduous—and rarely worth it—task. Back on Aguas, if it got to close to the water (shower, cup, planet—you name it) she'd have a sparks-fest on her hands.

Instead, she'd cleaned it—inside and out—about once a week.

Her leg was more complicated (and needed), so she'd taken a bench from one of the former cells and installed it inside her shower.

Out of everything the Enterprise offered, the privacy of her former station was the only thing she missed at these times. She could never stand to do it with anyone else present. Putting aside the nakedness factor, she couldn't picture herself showing off to a friend—or anyone more than that—what was basically a sponge-bath routine for geriatrics.

While she dabbed the cloth under her arm and around her shoulders (one of them ending in a stump, her arm hanging from a pair of installed hooks to the side of the cubicle) she heard a series of _pings_ from her bedroom.

She grimaced, wishing she'd remembered to put her padd on silent for the night.

By the time she reached her stomach, another round of notifications sounded off in her better ear.

"Oh my god—wHAT." She flung open the shower curtain and grabbed her towel. Swinging her legs over the tub's edge, she wrapped it around her torso with a (very) practiced one-armed maneuver.

In two steps she was out of the bathroom and at her bedside, reaching for her padd.

The first two were from Pavel. She lingered over the _return call_ option longer than she would have liked.

Another from Uhura, asking her about some decorating committee or another. Dillan skipped it. The only holiday she'd ever celebrated was her 'try-not-to-remember-that-day-Mom-died' anniversary.

A few more messages from Pavel… —Was he drunk? The interspersed Russian words certainly gave her that impression.

And one more. The only one she ended up caring about—unfortunately.

Two words from an anonymous account—the bastard didn't even had the gall to use their real name.

Nevertheless, they hit Dillan where she needed it least.

_Leave, criminal._

Her chin fell to her chest. She read it over and over again—like doing that would make the words mean anything different.

She dropped her padd to the bed, hand returning to hold her towel over her torso.

_Leave, criminal: leave now, you're not wanted. We don't want you—and not anything that comes with you._

_ Get lost._

At least they'd used proper grammar.

* * *

She knew she'd be able to reprogram the escape pod. An adjustment to the coordinates' longevity and an extra boost of fuel to the main tank, and she'd be on her way.

The Enterprise's escape pods were stationed at various locations around the ship, so that if an emergency occurred, no matter where you were, there'd be one within thirty metres.

According to the cleaning schedule, the gym on deck four was closed for the next rotation. That would no doubt anger some as it was the only one where the basketball nets were still operational. However, in her case, she went there for the twenty escape pods hidden inside its walls. Safety protocol stated that they had to be primed and ready for use at all times.

Dillan stepped lightly across the gym floor while the cleaning bots made their rounds. Once she got to the correct panel in the wall, she set down her backpack. All she had were a couple trinkets from here and Aguas, plus her toothbrush.

She'd changed into a new uniform, leaving all of them behind except for the one on her back. The red shirt itself could prove useful in the future if she needed to slip past some security outpost or another.

She typed in the test emergency code on her padd, isolating it to _just_ the pods in her closest vicinity. She told herself it wouldn't hinder any future escapes—she was just taking the one.

_What are you going to do after this?_ Her hand stopped, just inches from the button that would open her pod.

Escape vessels weren't capable of light speed. But they had an alternative: cryogenesis. Set a destination, the icer would calculate the end date, and all she had to do was let the chill waft her off to sleep.

It was public information. Dillan had read it all in the starter's safety manual.

Even though they'd crossed the border into deep space several weeks ago, Somerdale was still the closest Federation facility. From there, she could planet-hop until she made it to Earth. She'd always wanted to see the place, and now, she needed to know if it was as bad as her mother had always claimed.

The pod's hatch slid aside with a hush_._ Dillan reached back to throw her bag inside, when something caught her eye.

"What in the—" she exclaimed, then, upon realizing who it was, exhaled a sigh of annoyance. "Stars, Captain… You— you shouldn't sneak up on your crew like that!"

She laughed, inching to the right in an attempt to conceal the open escape pod.

He crossed his arms, an expectant expression on his face. "It's a little late for maintenance work, ensign."

"Maintenance?" She looked over her shoulder, wincing in the moment she had to hide it. "—Oh yeah, that. I just thought it would be best to get a start on these." She waved her hand in the air. "You know how backed-up engineering is, all… the time…" She looked closer at his face. "Oh." She really needed to learn how to read people. "You weren't serious."

Of course he wasn't. Because neither was she.

"Are you really going to leave us?" His voice carried through the space between them and hit her straight in the eardrums. The modifications in the right ear calculated a high amount of concern in his voice.

Dillan took her bag and swung it over her shoulder. "Yeah." She tried to ignore the tremble in her voice. "I'm leaving before you kick me off, or—" She looked down. "Or you send me away to some other prison; I can tell I'm not wanted here." She couldn't go back to a place like Aguas—not now when she didn't have the child factor playing in her favour.

His eyes widened. "That's not—"

Dillan held up her hands, effectively silencing him. "Please, just… don't. Hardly anyone talks to me anymore, and whenever they do it's the same old thing. All I get are vaguely empathetic attempts at understanding and suspicious looks directed at someone they think is an actual _criminal_ and… _Chekov."_ She sighed.

Oh Pavel. What had she ever done to deserve someone like him in her life? And now she was just running over him in an attempt to get away.

"You weren't sentenced to Aguas," Kirk said. "You were just born there."

"Which, in itself, is a different kind of sentencing." And she'd never even had a trial.

Kirk sighed. For the first time in Dillan's experience, he almost looked… nervous?

"Spock told me what he saw."

Dillan looked away. It wasn't that she hadn't expected it. She just hoped that somehow through a means of respectful omission he'd forgotten to do so.

"-It wasn't by any fault of your own."

"Well it's great everyone else sees it that way," she grumbled.

Kirk looked between her and the escape pod she'd given up on hiding from his view.

"Have you even _talked_ to Chekov since the interrogation?" He asked.

_"The Interrogation." _ Such a monumental event in what was supposed to be her new life. So special, with its italicized, capital 'I'.

"No," she retorted. "I already told you: no one wants to talk to me."

She seemed more interested in the floor than him in that moment, so Kirk dared to take a step forward.

"I mean, maybe you just shut yourself off for the moment," he said, "So I guess that I have to tell you this: but he's worried. He cares about you."

Dillan crossed her arms, burrowing those fleeting moments of happiness deep down in her chest. Kirk waited while she processed it.

Finally, she asked, "Are you going to stop me from leaving?"

"If it's not in the best interest of your safety, then it's in my duty to do so. So… yes."

"I'll be safe," she said, glancing warily at the escape pod.

Kirk scoffed. "You really think you can get that refrigerator back to Somerdale?"

"I am very capable of performing dramatic repairs within pre-existing life support systems," she said matter-of-factly, She'd done it more often than not back on Aguas.

"For some reason, I'm inclined to believe you," Kirk said. He had a feeling that if left to her own devices, Dillan could outsmart any problem she was presented with.

Dillan looked away, her backpack all but abandoned at her feet. "I was on my own for so long…" she whispered.

Kirk's frown flickered.

"I forgot to act around people; what it means to be part of a group—and not just a part _from_ one." She clenched her fists, hands at her sides. "And it's not like I was ever part of a normal society—and I _know_ that doesn't necessarily excuse my case, but—" She thought on her next words carefully. "I want to fit in. I want to be part of your group—but I also don't want people to hate of me… or to be afraid of me." She laughed, though Kirk couldn't detect an ounce of humour in it. "And it seems like that's a given with what happened last week—with both you and Spock," she added.

In the silence after she spoke, she sniffed. He gave her another moment to decide whether she was going to cry or not.

The moment passed; Kirk nodded. "I have to admit, Spock's methods were… uncharacteristic of him. But he was acting in the best interest of the crew. He thought you might be a threat, so he—"

"Oh my god!" Dillan exclaimed and Kirk halted his advance towards the escape pod.

She quieted down once she saw the look on his face. "Right… part of the crew. He's your second: that means you'll always side with him, right?"

He laughed. A true, nostalgia-filled belly laugh. It made her crack a smile, even if it formed out of confusion.

"Oh, you weren't here that first year," he said. "A real shit-show, if you asked him—though he wouldn't say it like that"

Dillan nodded, accepting the silence that had come between them.

After a moment, Kirk said, "He lost his mother too, you know?"

"I don't want to talk about my mother." Stomach pains, shields back up, she felt the wall of the gym press against her back.

But she hadn't known that about Spock…. Funny to think that even he'd had a mother at one point.

"Alright. _Okay_," Kirk said.

How had he gotten so close to her just then? "Hey." He put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it. "We don't have to talk about that—at least not for a while."

Dillan flinched at his next words, no further than an inch away from him.

"I spoke with the council on this." He winced, removing his hand from her shoulder.

_Council? What council? __No, no, no—_

"I had to," he apologized. "Something like this can't go unmentioned.

She nodded stiffly. "I understand."

"I explained the situation; what Spock saw in your memories," he paused, "and they_ are_ interested in speaking with you."

Dillan jumped away from him and grabbed her backpack. Before she got any further, Kirk had moved to stand in between her and the escape pod.

"Hey, hey," he said. "Just hear me out." When he was certain she wouldn't go any further, he continued. "I told them that we're too far out for an in-person meeting. So until the foreseeable future—or at least until we next touch down—you'll be under our care."

The grip on her backpack loosened. "I'm allowed to stay here?"

Kirk nodded, hand moving to cover the launch pad. Dillan looked away towards the cleaning bot in the other corner of the gym.

"You said Spock translated it all for you…" She hated to think of what he might know now. Re-living all of it had been worse than any of her actual nightmares.

"Yeah, he was quite… descriptive of the trauma you were dealt."

She recalled him placing his hand on her cheek, fingers splayed, his ominous voice warning her it would just be a few moments.

"Well, what? Do I owe him something for that?" She said sarcastically, realizing as she said it that it'd probably been the info he'd gathered that provided her stable alibi. Because of what he'd seen, they knew that she'd never done anything wrong.

At least, aside from lying about it all.

"Consider it his repayment for the past week," Kirk said.

Dillan turned towards the gym, staring up at the blue cleaning-shift lights. Behind her, the yellow glow of the escape pod disappeared at Kirk shut the door behind her.

He moved in front of the panel, and she suspected they'd be changing the access codes within the next hour.

She turned back around and looked over his shoulder at the hidden door. Wistfully considering her options, she turned her gaze to him.

He held out his arm in an 'after you' gesture, and in the back of her mind, she heard the cleaning bot's whirr come to a stop. The gym would reopen soon for crew usage.

She murmured a quiet thanks, and headed for the door.

Before they left the gym, Dillan paused. Kirk came up beside her, watching as she thought to herself.

"When you talked to that council about Aguas did you find out what happened to the other stations?" She asked, readjusting her backpack's strap. "The ones that made it off the planet?"

He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. "They didn't say."

* * *

**akagami hime chan: **oooooh yeah, our boi Spock needs to hide his feelings—conceal don't feel my friend XD


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Here we are! The obligatory 'Christmas party' chapter! These are always fun in Star Trek (or really any kind of) fanfics. We get to see everyone just mingle and be themselves for once! So this is just that! Also, thank you and welcome to the new favourites/followers as of last chapter! I hope you enjoy this next one :)**

Chapter 12: Holiday Party

* * *

With each passing minute, she drew closer and closer to her doom. Dillan's left leg jigged faster as the clock changed from 14:08 to 14:09. Right in this moment, she'd appreciate it if the couch would just swallow her right up.

_Six hours until it starts,_ she thought. _Six hours until you _end_._

"How about this?"

She looked up as Uhura crossed the room, hoisting the replicator's creation up in both hands.

Dillan scooted to the edge of her bed. "I don't know, let me have a better look at it."

Her eyes widened as Uhura straightened out the blouse. "It's… nice?" She straightened up. "Good god: the thing that makes my food made _that_?"

Uhura shifted the blouse aside to give Dillan a raised eyebrow. "Do you think you've been spending too much time around Bones? Keep talking like that and someone might think you two are related."

Dillan groaned. "I say 'good god' _one _time and I become the prodigal child."

Uhura laughed, causing her to smile.

"How are the decorations holding up?" Dillan asked as Uhura walked to her home office. Higher-ranking officers got fancier rooms—in this case: ones with more space. She assumed her being a part of the core crew had its influence as well.

"Good enough," Uhura said, rummaging through her drawers out of reach of Dillan's normal vision. "Even with the downsized budget I think we managed to pull off an accurate look." She closed the drawers, returning to the main bedroom with another shift in her arms. "Security's just having trouble keeping folks away, for now."

Dillan nodded. "Well I guess that's a good sign?"

The day before she'd been released from work early—only to be swept up by Uhura and her decorating crew. She'd spent most of the time on a ladder, attaching paper snowflakes half her height to the ceiling.

As swift as the introductions to the decorating crew had been, Dillan had managed to store all of their names and ranks in her own mental database.

"What's the theme called again?" She asked.

"Winter wonderland," Uhura said from the footboard. She sat down next to her. "It means lots of snow."

"_Right…_ Snow." Dillan couldn't understand their obsession with the stuff. Who _enjoyed _being cold—even if it was only for one night?

_"We're really glad you decided to stay with us."_

"What?" Dillan kept her surprise to a minimum.

"I said we're glad you decided to come," Uhura said. "To the party."

"Oh." She shrugged. "How could I pass on the opportunity to watch all my crewmates get drunk?"

Uhura nudged her lightly. "Any_one _crewmate in particular?"

Dillan rolled her eyes, ignoring the _pang_ it sent through her heart. "No idea _what_ you're talking about. Personally, I will be next to the punch bowl—with all five sober members of the crew."

"He holds his alcohol fairly well, you know," Uhura said.

"Isn't the stereotype that Russians drink a lot?" Dillan said, frowning.

Uhura nudged her again, this time more suggestively.

"What?" Dillan froze, staring at her, then the floor, then her palms as she put them over her eyes.

"Knew it," Uhura said. She passed Dillan the next outfit to try on. "You've got it bad."

* * *

Those who arrived on time found themselves stuck in a whirlpool of awkward, empty interactions until the majority of attendees arrived thirty minutes past.

Those who didn't attend and had rooms on the floor above would be hard-pressed to get any sleep that night.

The six-hour Christmas celebration was the party to end all parties aboard the Enterprise.

Friendships were made, rivalries flared up, and at least one inside joke and/or rumour began by the end, so crew were encouraged to attend.

They would find the main social area in docking bay six, with various dance scenes and food stations in the surrounding rooms. (A gym, two offices, and—to much displeasure—one change room.)

Despite having had many functional replicators back on Aguas (the only things that never seemed to need repairs), Dillan had never tried orange-glazed gammon, nor _filet im teig_—some kind of pork dish from a place called "_Suisserlan_" on Earth.

As the party increased in fervour, Dillan inched closer and closer to the punch station. This was where Bennet—aide-de-campe to Spock—found her: deliberating between something green with a name card she couldn't read, and something red with no card at all.

"Try the raspberry," he said, pointing to the glass bowl of red. She made a mental note to find out what a raspberry was later on.

Dillan took a scoopful and proceeded to inspect the disintegrating chunks of fruit now spinning around inside her cup.

"Just a warning," he said. "Get what you want to drink now. Someone usually spikes the punch about halfway through the night.

Dillan stared at him, feeling an urge to dump her drink down the nearest sink.

"Oh, I'm completely serious!" He called over his shoulder as he wandered back towards the throngs of crew. "Stay safe now!"

She watched him go, still debating over whether or not to keep her drink when he met up with his boyfriend—the tall Orion named Harrev—and they disappeared into a passing group of crew. After a moment, she turned and made for the food.

Along the way, she passed Sulu, who stopped to compliment her recovery in their Tuesday starring sessions. He was only dropping in for a minute—and some food—as his family was expected to call him any moment for their weekly video chat.

She caught a glimpse of Scotty, surrounded by a score of his engineering personnel, no doubt telling some ridiculous story.

She only saw him long enough to question what was in the tea cup he had—before someone stepped in her way.

"Would you like to try the T'mirak rice?" Spock asked, holing out a plate covered in something that vaguely resembled what Dillan knew as rice—only more purple.

"Uh, thank you?" She took the plate off of his hands. "Is this what you generally give people for presents?"

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, tilting forward just enough so that they could hear each other over the din of the music.

"No: that was simply my way of intersecting myself into your path." In place of his uniform, he wore a sweater. How Uhura had let him out in _that_, Dillan didn't know.

Dillan stepped around him, fully prepared to take her rice and punch into the corner and sulk. "Well it's certainly very… you," she finished. "Happy Holidays, Commander."

Everything else on the banquet table looked so wonderful, and now she was stuck with a plate of purple grains at the risk of offending the first officer.

He pivoted on one heel to face her again. "I wish to inform you that your citizenship has officially been instated."

Dillan froze, mid-step. _Oh, lovely, my basic rights as a mostly-human being._

"You should receive a form of digital confirmation within the week."

Dillan looked over there shoulder, then turned around completely. His face gave away nothing, but the reversion to his practical stance gave her a clue.

"Thank you," she said, and resumed her perusing of the banquet table.

* * *

As the party picked up, Dillan found refuge in the eating room. Loosely-populated and furthest from the dancers, it gave her the perfect combination of solitude and peacefulness.

In the main docking-bay-turned-dance-hall, she heard the song change. The footfalls of a few dozen people surged past the door in a race to get to there in time for the chorus. Dillan tried to discern what lyrics there were, but found that they were little more than the same phrase repeated over and over again.

Uhura strutted past, and Dillan was attempted to hide underneath her table, lest she be spotted and dragged out of the safe space.

Dillan hadn't seen Pavel yet, and had no intention of seeking him out.

"Not one for dancing?"

She looked up to see Bones standing there with a flask in his right hand. He, like everyone else, had changed into something more civilian than their everyday uniforms.

She shook her head. "I'm not socially equipped to dance."

He inclined his head to the empty chair next to her and she nodded.

"Besides," she added, inclining her head in the direction of the music. "Jumping around in a sweaty crowd of people I barely know isn't my style. Not to mention their music choices," she muttered.

"I would've never taken you as a classicist." Bones set his flask down on the table between them. "You know?" He said, "I don't think people are as much about that as you make yourself believe."

"Really?" Dillan looked at him. "Maybe it's just the prison thing, then."

She took a forkful of rice, then another sip of punch. They didn't go well together, and she quickly succumbed to a coughing fit, covering her mouth with her elbow.

When she came back up, gasping for air, Dillan pushed away the rice, instead going for the glass.

"You drink?" Bones asked after she set it back on the table, empty.

"Nope." She wiped the corners of her mouth with her hand. "This is just punch."

"Good." He nodded and surveyed the few others populating the dining room.

She stared at him a moment longer, then shook her head. "Yourself?"

"Not tonight," he said. Noticing her glance at the flask, he swirled it around in his hand. "Just coffee."

Dillan inclined her chin, returning her gaze to the door that lead to the dance. Just in time for Pavel to walk in.

"Right…" she said, then froze as they locked gazes.

He seemed about to talk to her, until one of the officers at a table behind them walked up to him. Andrews cuffed him on the shoulder lightly, then gestured towards the door. She glanced back at Dillan with a knowing, but sympathetic look. After a moment, Pavel followed her out.

Dillan sunk a little further into her chair. The music seemed to get louder the more the replayed the moment in her head.

Bones said something, took a swig out of his flask. She nodded, muttering a half-response under her breath.

"Beg your pardon?" Bones asked. When she didn't respond, he looked over to her.

Rice abandoned; drink cup handing loosely between her thumb and index finger; slouched posture. He followed her gaze to the door, and upon the realization, sighed.

"Dillan?" She kept staring.

_"Dillan."_ He tapped her shoulder. She turned to him, vaguely incited by the contact.

"What?" Her tone: snarky, but somehow still caring. It reminded him of a conversation he might've had with a child of his own in a different life.

Not _what_, he was tempted to say, but didn't.

"You know they're not together," he said, gesturing to where they'd last seen them. He would know. Andrews' wedding to her fiancee was scheduled for five months from now—approximately one month after their baby was scheduled to arrive.

"Really?" Dillan's neck flushed red, and she crossed her hands underneath her armpits. "Wait, no— no, I was just—" She gestured frantically. "I just zoned out, that's all…"

Bones raised an eyebrow. She groaned and put her head in her hands.

"Did Uhura tell you to tell me?" She said, voice muffled.

Bones shook his head and took another sip of coffee. "She didn't need to."

* * *

A little while later, Dillan found her way to an exit. The music carried far. She could still discern the beat—if not the lyrics—with some clarity, even as she walked further away.

She'd have to replicate something else back at her room. During her time with Bones, the banquet tables had been reduced to bits, leaving behind a only few meagre pieces of cake.

"Dillan!" Someone called, and she froze.

She turned around, then stepped back when she saw who it was.

Pavel stood in the corridor, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He didn't ask her to wait or stay. Later, she'd be thankful that no one had walked by in that moment.

"You look nice," he said.

Uhura had made her a simple outfit: long black pants that ended just above her boots, and a purple blouse. She'd never worn anything that felt so light on her skin—real or artificial. Her hair fell down her shoulders in loose tresses, for once, not tied back by an elastic.

Dillan shook her head. "H- how..?" She stuttered, then gave up. "What do you want?" She said, bringing the chilly exterior back to her front. She just wanted a day—an evening—to end on a good note for once.

Pavel stepped forward, hands pressed to his sides. "Just to talk with you, I hope."

She looked away. "Fine. Say what you have to." Running away from him now would just prolong the awkwardness—and was that really what she wanted?

Pavel thought to himself for a moment. "Uh, did you enjoy the party?"

Dillan shrugged. "It was fun, I guess."

"You didn't dance?"

She shook her head. The mere thought of it made her leg burn.

"Maybe next time?"

She hadn't thought that far ahead. "I don't think that would be a good time." She crossed her arms. "Besides, who's to say I'll even be here next year?"

Pavel's gaze fell to the floor. "I hope you will be," he said.

Dillan felt a flutter inside her chest. She was beginning to have some idea of what that meant, even if she'd never truly felt it before.

Not knowing what else to do, she slid to the floor and sat with her back against the wall. A few moments later, he joined her.

Dillan put her head in her hands.

The corridor seemed to get smaller and smaller, squeezing her lungs until she couldn't breathe.

Pavel waited a couple of inches away, doing his best to sit as quietly as possible, she noticed. He shifted from side to side as she tried to hide her sniffles.

"Why is this so difficult?" She groaned, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes until she saw sparks.

She looked at him. "I think I need to—" She inhaled. "I've been so cold with you… I should have told you everything, it's just… I _couldn't_." She sighed. "Something to do with how I was raised, I guess."

Pavel bit his lip. Dillan looked at him, confused, then her eyes widened. After a moment, they both laughed.

Once she regained her breath, Dillan asked, "How long have you been on this ship?"

"I was seventeen when I boarded for the first time,"Pavel mused. "So, about four years?"

"Seventeen?" Dillan's expression softened. "That's very young."

Pavel nodded. "I began Starfleet when I was fourteen"

It took a second for Dillan to pick her jaw up off the floor.

He shrugged it off, scooting a little closer to her. "That can't compare to what you were doing then."

She paused. "I guess you're right. Though by that point, I had most everything under control." She laughed dryly. "Didn't have to worry about the oxygen turning toxic every other week." She went silent, slipping back to the time before. After a moment, she leaned into him.

Her hair brushed against his shoulder. He swore he could almost feel her shiver, despite the heating systems functioning perfectly in this sector.

"We don't have to talk about it now," he said. "Not ever, if you don't want to."

Dillan felt him shift underneath her, and worried that he'd grown uncomfortable. She went to move away, until his hand brushed against hers.

"I should though, shouldn't I?" She said, head pressed against his shoulder. "Here. Now that they've decided to trust me again."

"I trust you," Pavel said. "Honestly."

_Honesty._ She couldn't imagine where that would've gotten her initially. A private cell? Hours of interrogation by people far less involved than the captain and first officer…

Sitting close to him like this felt good. She hadn't done this with anyone—let alone a boy—in years. Almost ten, to be exact.

"What about you?" She asked. "Who were you raised by to be so smart at such a young age?"

She didn't see his cheeks flush a soft pink, but felt the rumble of a chuckle through his chest.

"My parents? I was homeschooled," he confessed.

"Hey, me too!" Dillan leaned away from him and raised her hands in mock celebration.

Pavel snorted, which made her sit up straighter, craning her neck towards him against the wall to get a better look.

"Why do you keep making jokes like that?" Pavel asked, wiping a tear from his eye.

Dillan moved close enough that they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. "I think Bones would call it a coping mechanism."

She put a hand on each knee. While she gazed up at the ceiling, Pavel's eyes strayed down to her left hand, then to her right.

"But there's a difference between them," she murmured. "Between the ones I mean and the ones that I don't…"

"Mmhm." Pavel closed his eyes. He exhaled, then leaned into her. She angled her body to face him completely, and his head fell into her lap. She tousled his hair, staring down at him.

They sat there together, while the party music hummed through the walls like a giant's heartbeat. Sometime later, his hand was in hers, and she closed her eyes, relishing in their little pocket of space and time.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Welcome back! And welcome to the few new favourites/followers that joined since the last update : ) The story definitely picks up in this one ;D**

Chapter 13: Total Eclipse of My Life

* * *

The change in atmosphere battered the sides of the shuttle, making Sulu grimace. Debris—rocks and pockets of space garbage that cluttered the outer reaches of the planet—kept dashing against the front windshield. They were flung through the sky in every direction imaginable, but even with his considerable pilotting skills, Sulu couldn't seem to help them much.

One of the crew gave out a small cry as a particularly large projectile hit them. Sulu felt the entire shuttle go weightless, out of his control; his stomach soared into his throat.

The survey team they'd sent down was inexperienced—save for their leader, Bennet. (Even in times such as these, he was ever the stoic semblance of humour, joking about the dry welcome they'd receive upon returning to the Enterprise.)

Even with Bennet's jovial attitude, Sulu doubted that their encounter with the much-more-advanced-than-they'd-previously-thought natives and the escalated situation would lead them to volunteer for future missions.

A voice came through the comms system, and Sulu clenched his jaw as the shuttle tilted sideways. His wedding band dug into his ring finger as he gripped the steering console. He shot a silent apology back at the crew behind him, tilting the shuttle even further so that they shot through two giant rocks that were about to collide.

The voice dissolved into static in between the shouts of the survey team, and his exasperated grunt, leaving Sulu to wonder whether it had come from the surface, or the Enterprise.

By his estimates, the spiral trapping their tiny shuttle seemed to have been going on for far too long. Sulu turned a dial to increase thruster force, only to discover that their rockets were being drained by the second.

The walls rattled, creaking around them like a coffin tossed into the sea.

One of the crew whimpered to themselves.

In the back of his already-overcrowded mind, Sulu heard Bennet attempt to console them.

It might have worked, had they not been hit again.

From underneath—or was it above? They'd spun around so many times by this point he'd lost count—a projectile rammed into the shuttle. Had Sulu not already been doing his job at , he might have noticed the added weight that didn't_ quite _go away as they were flung out of the dust cloud and into the planet's outer-most atmosphere.

All Sulu focused on then was the sudden abundance of activity on the comms.

Sulu took in the sighs of relief from the crew behind him, allowing himself a small smile as the Enterprise called them home.

* * *

Dillan, along with every other crew member present, ran towards the shuttle that was limping into bay six.

Scratches and tears adorned every inch of its outer hull. Many of the present crew coughed, as it was still surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

The side door let out a cavernous groan as it opened, releasing the five people inside from what could have been their tomb.

One of the landing party, a humanoid species with stripes of darker skin pigment running along their neck and limbs, collapsed when they touched the floor. Bennet, along with the three others, helped them up.

Dillan perked up once she spotted the pilot. Her thumb had been poised over her comm for the last minute, waiting to send the "all clear" text message to Pavel.

Once it was sent, she tucked the device away and raised her hand. Sulu spotted her amongst the surging crowd of engineers.

"Let me be the first to say—" He cut her off with a hug. She stayed shock-still, confused by the trembling hands gripping onto her shoulders.

"—what a spectacular job you did…" she finished once he'd stepped back. "May I ask what that was for?" She hadn't had a single thing to do with this mission.

"Just making sure this is real," he said, laughing shakily.

Dillan helped him away from the shuttle as a team of mechanics descended upon it.

"What happened down there?" She whispered. Then, pulling out her communicator, "I can record this for the report if you'll alright with it." Spock would be on her about it if she didn't.

"I didn't see much, but, uh," he winced, reaching for the nearest pillar. "Do you think we could hold off on that for a minute?"

Dillan blinked. "Right. Of course: do you need anything? Water? Food? A medic?" She helped him to a storage crate, which he promptly flopped on top of. Legs dangling over the edge, he let out a long breath.

"Just… a minute to myself," he whispered. Then, when she went silent, he added, "and maybe some water if it's not too much trouble."

She nodded emphatically. "You got it."

Back at the shuttle, now twenty metres away from them, a mechanic came across an object that wasn't supposed to be there.

Dillan scampered to the nearest break room, another thirty metres away. Sulu sat up on the storage container, hands planted at his sides as he felt the beginnings of a panic attack surface in his chest.

He felt something missing on his left hand, then realized what he'd left behind in the chaos.

At the shuttle, the mechanic called her colleague over, who then called their supervisor.

Dillan exited the break room, water bottle in hand, just in time to see Sulu stand up from the storage container. Relieved to see that he was okay, she raised the bottle in his direction. But he turned away from her, and set back towards the shuttle at a brisk jog.

She turned her attention to the shuttle. All of the mechanics, she realized, were gathered around a specific area on the hull. One was underneath on a scooter, inspecting it.

She looked back to Sulu, heading away from her, then back to the shuttle as one of the mechanics jumped away from it, shouting in alarm at what she'd seen. She turned around just in time for Dillan to see the worry—quickly forming into terror—on her face.

Dillan reached out, the words, _"Sulu, wait,"_ forming on her lips, just in time for the bomb to go off.

* * *

"You were thrown off your feet by the blast?"

Dillan looked up at Bennet, then shook her head. "No, but I think everyone closer to the shuttle was."

"And not knocked unconscious?" He asked, hand placed next to the recording device.

She leaned forward when she next spoke. "No. My vision went white for a moment, but it returned fairly quickly." That had scared her the most: the starlight had overridden her cone and rod cells for those first few moments.

She blinked. "When I could see again, well, I could hardly see because of the smoke."

Her throat had closed up. She'd doubled over in her coughing.

"How close to the shuttle did you find Mister Sulu?" Bennet asked, voice quieting. He and another attendant were in charge of interviewing those who'd witnessed the explosion. Their list was short, as only a few were currently conscious and lucid enough to speak.

"Ten metres, maybe." She closed her eyes, envisioning what she could remember from the few moments after. Stumbling through the clouds of smoke, she found Sulu, grabbed his arms, and dragged him to the other end of bay 6. Everything covered in a red soot—so red she'd thought it was blood at first.

"Did you see anything suspicious happen near the shuttle in the moments leading up to the explosion?"

Dillan cocked her head. "There was something… I knew when the mechanics had discovered the bomb." Two out of the five mechanics had died; the others were still in surgery.

"Have you figured out how it was attached to the shuttle?" She asked.

Bennet sighed. "We suspect it came from a projectile launched by the locals." As an afterthought, he added, "Conclude interview with Cadet Chasify: Stardate 22.43.61, 1300 hours."

He stopped the recording, using his free hand to massage his brow.

She remembered then, that he'd been on that transport just minutes before it blew.

"Do you need anything else from me?" She asked tentatively.

Without looking at her, he said, "No, thanks for your time, Chasidy. Please send the next person in on your way out."

She got up and left him in his office. Once outside, she motioned for the lieutenant sitting on the bench to head in.

Before she'd even had a chance to catch her breath, a pair of warm arms wrapped around her shoulders. Pavel exhaled shakily when she returned the hug.

"Let's go to the waiting room, alright?" She said. He nodded, and they set off together.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Eyes widening, Ensign Venter stared down at the complicated array in front of him. Despite having memorized every button and lever on the pilot's side of the bridge, he was drawing a blank.

"Ensign Venter?" The Captain's voice struck him in the back of the head like a brick. _Any day now,_ was what Venter heard

Venter doubted he used that voice when the usual pilot was in this chair. Unfortunately, Sulu was still out of commission for the time being.

"Yes, sir," he said, keeping his stammer at bay for a few more seconds. "Right away, sir."

He knew the thrusters were located at the bottom left corner. Even though he'd been told in the academy to 'always be prepared', he hadn't been expecting First Officer Spock to show up at his work station the day after the shuttle explosion.

Trying to look as certain as possible, he went for the big lever. The universe—while it had given him alternative signs that day—smiled down on him, willing the Enterprise forward and away from the planet that had inadvertently taken two of their crew from them.

Venter allowed himself a moment of relief, though he still felt the eyes of everyone else on the bridge boring into the back of his neck.

He's gone through the academy, same as everyone else, only he'd graduated bottom of his class in academics. He could only think that his creative endeavours in mock field-duty had caught the eye of whoever recruited for the Enterprise.

He'd met Mister Sulu just twice. Both times, the man had been polite. Reserved, but polite.

So far his experience with the Enterprise and her five-year mission had been perfectly uneventful—with one exception: Ellie.

She was known as Ensign Andrews to everyone else, but he liked to call her Elllie when they were alone.

If his temporary promotion hadn't been done under such melancholy circumstances, it would be up there beside her as one of the best things to ever happen to him.

The shift went on, and Venter was stuck between preoccupation with his new duties, and worrying about Ellie's condition. She had regular medical check ups, and despite all of the CMO's assurances, pregnancies aboard starships still caused him an immense amount of worry.

Whenever he moved he felt at least one pair of eyes latch on to him. Watching and waiting to document his next mistake.

And if his stony silence was anything to go off of, Venter's helm counterpart, Chekov, didn't seem enthused in the least by his presence. Venter couldn't fault him for it: everyone would be better off once Sulu had recovered and they were able to properly grieve the others.

He had a dozen questions for Chekov, but put off asking them for now. Everyone knew that his station on the bridge was only temporary.

By the end of his second week at the helm, Venter had mustered up the courage to attempt a tad of small talk with his bridgemate. He was about to turn and ask him about the eclipse posed to take place later that day, when Kirk stepped in between them

He leant over, whispering a few words to Chekov before he and Spock swiftly departed the bridge.

"What was that about?" Venter asked, already regretting his decision to speak up. Pavel had a stricken, yet hopeful look on his face.

"Please watch the kahn," he said quietly, then made for the lift.

* * *

Dillan ran down the hall, slowing to match Scotty's pace as they neared the entrance to med bay.

"What did they say specifically?" She asked.

"That he's lucid," Scotty wheezed. "Didn't say anything about his motor capabilities, though."

Dillan shook her head, "Let's just hope he recognizes everyone."

The rest of the main crew were already grouped around Sulu's bed. Scotty ran to find an extra space, while Dillan waited on the outer edges of the circle.

She saw Chekov break and move towards her. Her heart lurched at the sight of his tears. She held out her arms.

"What is it?" She asked as he fell into her, trying to get a better look at Sulu's body, face, anything that would tell what was going on from over Chekov's shoulder.

"He's okay," Pavel breathed, clutching her to him. "He's awake, and Bones said he'll be okay."

Dillan opened her eyes—just realizing that she'd closed them—and spotted Bones across the room. He slumped into a chair, padd in hand, and nodded in her direction. She acknowledged him, then closed her eyes and squeezed Pavel tightly.

Two weeks ago, they'd held each other and sobbed during the operation. Today, they did the same.

* * *

Dillan opened the door to her room, already smiling. "What did you two talk about?"

Pavel stepped inside, holding a bottle and two glasses. "Everything we had time for," he said. "Sulu asked a million questions, though Doctor McCoy probably had more."

Chuckling, Dillan led him through her quarters to the small common area between bedroom and bathroom. The far wall, he saw, was covered in a shimmering black metal that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Dillan told him to set down the glasses while she made her way over to the wall. Back turned, she typed in a few short key commands into a keypad off to the side.

With a smooth _whoosh_ noise, the black cover slid aside to reveal a near-transparent view of the solar system they'd stopped in.

Pavel stepped back, cautious until he noticed the slight distortion on the edges of the frame. On the other side of the screen, he assumed, was a live feed of what was directly outside her quarters: a stunning array of planets, lit by an endless expanse of starlight.

"You set this all up?"

Dillan's back was still turned, admiring her work, so she didn't see the look of pure reverence on his face.

She trailed a finger along the screen. "I had some spare time. They wouldn't let me install an actual _window_, so I made this instead." She turned around, ears turning red at the smile on his face. "Eclipses don't happen every day, so I wanted to make an evening out of it."

And for once, she had someone to share it with.

She pressed another button, and this time, the floor slid back to reveal a small circular platform at the base of the screen. From there, the cosmos would tower above them, both safe and comfortable on the cushions.

In med bay, Sulu waited for his husband to pick up their signal. They hadn't had the connection to tell him about the explosion beforehand, and he was thankful for that. Better for Ben to hear it from him, so an alternative messenger didn't get his full wrath.

On the other side of the ship, Kirk noted the absence of the two younger crew with a sly grin, and a tip of his drink.

In engineering, Scotty glanced between his paperwork, and the livestream of the eclipse.

Dillan and Pavel sat side-by-side in front of the viewing screen. The drinks remained on the upper level, abandoned next to the replicator.

"I heard there are some parties around the ship," Pavel said.

Dillan nodded. "Me too." She'd received two invitations, but had declined each of them in turn.

The timer on the corner of the view screen ticked down. Two minutes until the eclipse began. In five, the sun of this system would become a black circle blocking out the stars.

"Do you ever—" Dillan began, just as Pavel said, "I've been thinking—"

They both stopped and looked in opposite directions.

Dillan unclasped her hands, putting one to either side of her. She looked to Pavel. "You go first."

His cheeks burned red. His tongue felt like sandpaper. Pavel shifted so that he was facing her directly. Outside, the solar system's largest planet began to inch in the way of its sun.

"I was just going to say," he began, "That I've been thinking a lot since the explosion." He put his hands on his crossed knees, palms facing down. "About Sulu, of course, but also about the other people close to me."

It felt like there were bubbles in Dillan's stomach, each one of them poised to burst out of her and shout what she hoped he was about to say. She stayed completely still. _Don't stop now._

The sun's light was half gone now, leaving their upper bodies in shadow.

Pavel took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "What I am trying to say is that I like you, and if you do as well, I think it would be great if—"

The bubbles came out, pushing Dillan forwards. Her heart beat at a sprinter's pace, threatening to burst right out of her chest. She slanted her lips over his, and twisted her fingers into his hair.

Her right hand stayed in her lap, stiff and stagnant, until he brushed his fingers against it. She jumped at the contact, then interlocked her fingers with his.

His lips moved with hers and she smiled, shifting as close to him as possible without toppling over.

Around the ship, the crew watched as the eclipse began, and here, intimately close to someone else, Dillan felt at home.

* * *

**Thank you, as always, for reading. **

**If I could hold your attention for just another minute, I've included a link to the Black Lives Matter page that has places to donate to the cause, and a multitude of petitions that need your support. **

**This is probably coming out of left field, with this just being a silly Star Trek fanfiction, but the protesters and organizers and just black people of colour out there, trying to live their lives, need all the help they can get. **

**So, sign some petitions, and if you're able to, please donate as well.**

update: tried including a link, but the doc manager doesnt want me to :( Googling 'black lives matter carrd' works just as well.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Oooohhh, boy am I excited for this next phase in the story! Dillan and Pavel are (finally!) together, and the crew makes a frightening discovery… Happy reading!**

Chapter 14: Flip of a Switch

* * *

"You see?" Bones removed the hypo from Dillan's neck, rolling his eyes at the hand that immediately went to touch the injection site. "If you come in for these regularly, they're not so painful."

Dillan groaned. "By 'painful', I'm going to assume you're referring to the emotional trauma and betrayal which I experienced the last time I was dragged in here."

Bones placed the hypo into a sample tray, where it would be taken for testing, then sterilized. "I miss when you didn't take after the Captain so much."

"Aha!" Dillan leapt off the bed as he gave her the 'ok' sign. "A new one: how long did it take you to come up with that?"

Bones shook his head. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

The entrance to Medbay opened, and another red shirt staggered in. A nurse helped him to a bed. They heard the coughing from where they stood, despite being on the other end of the centre.

Dillan grimaced. "How many is that?"

"He's the third this week," Bones said. "We got Sulu out, but there seems to be a flu going around Engineering. Regular symptoms of tiredness, irritability… Two more cases and it's officially an outbreak—but you didn't hear that from me," he added.

"So you're saying that I may be affected?" Dillan laughed, but stifled her joking manner the moment she saw the look on Bones' face.

"Symptoms also include dizziness and hallucinations," he recited, "So you're free to go-today."

Dillan raised an eyebrow, then pulled her end-of-shift sweater on over her head.

"Just promise me you'll keep yourself and you-know-who clean," he said. Dillan blushed from underneath her sweater.

* * *

So, _Bones_ knew, which meant that the Captain knew, which undoubtedly meant the First Officer knew as well. Dillan trusted Pavel, but suspected that Sulu was the first one he'd told. She had to assume that at least half of the crew knew about them by this point, despite her not wanting to tell anyone for the first two weeks. Great.

That said, Dillan hadn't felt this giddy, in, well, _ever._ Despite what seemed like _everyone_ already knowing, she'd woken up that first morning after the kiss with a secret only two people knew. The feeling of caring for someone else so infinitely—and _knowing_ they felt the same—kept her weightless for an entire week.

Pavel came around Engineering during his hours scheduled there, and he always found a way to see her. Sometimes it'd just be a wave from across the repairs sector, other times, they sat together in an empty corridor and talked about their day.

So far, work was most of what they talked about.

Today, Dillan hung from the ceiling by a harness, inspecting the structural integrity of a bulkhead following their explosive incident a couple weeks prior.

"Hey!" Pavel called up to her, hand raised in greeting.

She glanced down. Upon seeing who it was, Dillan activated the suction cup on her scanner and stuck it to the bulkhead. She set it to automatically monitor her repairs while she took her break.

"Hi." She released the latch on the harness, sliding down to his level. She stopped at his shoulders, swaying lightly when her momentum was cut off. She felt like an acrobat, something she'd only ever seen on a screen before that point.

He stepped forward, placing his hands on the tops of her feet.

"How long do you have left on your break?" Dillan asked.

"Not long," he said. "Do you want to get dinner later?"

She shifted in the harness. Her right foot shied away from him, forcing him to focus his attention on her left. "Whereabouts?" She asked.

"The caf?" He suggested.

Dillan cocked her head. "Seems like kind of an open place to go, don't you think? Plus, we already go there everyday."

"Uh, I guess it does not have to be there? We could take food elsewhere…" Pavel released her left foot to scratch his head. "Like here, maybe?"

Dillan leaned forward, holding onto the cords on either side of her harness for support. "An isolated corner of engineering? You must have read my mind."

Pavel went up on his tip toes; Dillan leaned forwards and they met in the middle to kiss. Their noses squished side by side, and Dillan felt his eyelashes flutter as they broke apart.

"Great," he said, smiling. "It's a date."

_A date,_ She thought as he walked away, leaving her and the harness to their work. _Wow._

* * *

She reported to Scotty at the end of her shift. Or rather, he came to her just as her toes reached the floor.

"How's she doin'?" He asked, slapping a hand against the smooth steel surface of the bulkhead.

"Better than ever," Dillan said. "Or at least, they will be. I've got a bit of a list to get through," she confessed. "Today was mainly spent calculating what that list would be."

She turned away to pack up her supplies—and to hide her burning red cheeks.

Her time in engineering was never without work, but with that came small pockets of boredom.

She could only ask for new assignments ever so often before she felt like she was being a burden. Over the past three months, Dillan had worked her way through nearly a fifth of the ship's underbelly. Most mechanics kept themselves specialized to one area, but Scotty was determined for her to have the most immersive on-board training experience possible.

Scotty marked the current stage in the job as complete, then he and Dillan made their way to the nearest lift.

"Is your leg working alright with that harness?" He asked, noting the intermittent scuffs of her right foot against the floor. "If your shoes have worn down too much, you should talk to Bones about it. He'd be more than happy to give you the patent to replicate a new pair."

She shook her head, "That's not necessary. The harness works well enough, though I wish my anti-grav boots hadn't been confiscated."

"I know." Scotty sighed. "But, if command finds out about something new, the only way they know how to deal with it is to lock it away."

They stopped at the door to the lift and Scotty pressed a button to call one to them.

"Odds are they'll keep it in their archives for a decade, then release it as official gear made by one of their development task forces." At the sight of Dillan's horrified expression, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, lass. 'Tis the life of an inventor."

Once inside the lift, Dillan leaned against the wall, flipping through the schedule for next week while the floors zipped past them.

Scotty noticed her pause on the outline for the next day and cleared his throat.

"Just so you know, I rearranged your schedule tomorrow afternoon so you can, uh, get ready."

Dillan looked from her padd, to him, then back. Then she recalled her and Pavel's conversation just a few hours earlier and sighed.

"Does everyone know already?"

Scotty became very focused on the lift's number pad. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Mainly just the superior officers—including Uhura an' Sulu o' course."

Dillan groaned, letting her padd fall to the side. The last thing she needed was others meddling in her first real relationship.

"Hey, hey," Scotty said, moving into her line of sight. "It was the same when Andrews and Venter got together—and look where they are now!"

Dillan's eyes went wide. "Yeah, pregnant and planning their wedding." She looked up at the ceiling, unconsciously pressing as far back as she could into the walls. "Is it moving faster than normal, do you think? It feels like it's going too fast…"

"Do you mean the lift, or…" Scotty trailed off as she began to take in big gulping breaths of air.

"Yes, of course I mean the lift!" Her voice rose in pitch. "What else would I be referr—oh yes, alright, I hear it now.."

She continued hyperventilating right up until they reached their floor. Before the doors opened, Scotty hit the emergency stop button.

He was torn between reaching out, and giving her space. He took her padd away from her and set it down.

"Do you think you should reschedule this date of yours?"

"Reschedule?" Her eyes were wide with fright. "But what'll he think of me then? If I do that it's like I'm not prepared to like him—which I do, I am, I think, because I do... But if I do go and he sees me like this he'll think I'm crazy—oh, god, what do I do?"

"Alright, first off: he won't think you're crazy," Scotty said. "At least, no more than he is. If there's anything he's been tellin' Sulu for the past two months, it's that he's absolutely infatuated with you, and how he doesn't know how to say it."

Scotty stepped forward, holding out his hands. "Him not liking you will not be the problem here." Lord knows he'd heard enough about it through the command chain—the two of them had it bad for each other.

At his request, Dillan took one deep breath, then another. After a minute, she stopped hyperventilating in the corner of the lift.

"You like him and he likes you, right?" Scotty said.

She nodded, slowly unsticking herself from the wall.

"Awkwardness and nerves are just a part of dating. I can't say they go away as you get older, just that by then the other party is as self-aware about it as you are."

She laughed quietly, voice shaking a bit from the effort of it.

He placed a hand on her shoulder as she rejoined him in the centre of the lift.

"That said, if the anxiety you just had stops you from living normally—or, er, productively—we can always go and find someone for you to talk to."

After she nodded, wiping the hair from her forehead, Scotty pressed the emergency stop button again, releasing their lift from its limbo.

* * *

One month had passed, and still no one felt comfortable walking through docking bay six.

Dillan had asked to be a part of the team responsible for reconstructing the new shuttle, but she'd been assigned to the repairs division at the site of the explosion.

Clean-up had taken five days. Clearing all the rubble, gathering any leftover data, then sanitizing the area within an inch of its life.

Normal wasn't something they could return to—especially not when it came to the spot where the transport shuttle had once been. No matter how much they tried, no amount of cleaner could get rid of the scorch marks. Scotty had put in an order for some floor replacements the next time they stopped at a better-equipped station.

Even with everyone still affected by the losses, they'd tried to keep things as normal as possible.

The bio-scanners nearest to the explosion had all been decimated. It was Dillan's job to repair and recalibrate them all by the end of the week.

She first noticed the problem after getting one of the bio scanners back online. The oxygen content in their air was point zero-zero-five of a percent off its usual ratio.

On any planet, some fluctuation by half of that would be within normal parameters, but the Enterprise was a closed environment. Something wasn't right.

The first scanner was on the wall opposite to the site of the explosion. Padd in hand, Dillan walked in a straight line from that one to the next.

The scanner's twin—an identical piece inserted into one of the support beams—gave off the same, disconcerting reading.

Three other scanners lead further away from the explosion site. The further Dillan walked, the more normal their readings became.

A rock settled in her stomach. Dillan typed out a preliminary emergency report and saved it to her drafts. If what she suspected was right, they were all about to be the worst kind of right.

After copying the bio scanner's capabilities into a blank app on her padd, she opened up a tab that showed the would-be (should-be) contents of their safe, breathable air.

78.0 nitrogen, 21.0 oxygen, 0.9 argon, 0.03 carbon, plus a bunch of smaller quantities she didn't need to pay attention to just then.

She put the starting stats into her padd-turned-bio-scanner. At the distance of fifty metres away, the levels remained normal. With a deep breath, Dillan began to walk towards the site of the crash.

She nearly cheered after nothing happened during the first five steps, but then, on the eighth, the oxygen went from to 21.0 to 20.8.

Heart rising to her mouth, she walked closer to the site. By the time she was ten metres away, it had gone down to 19.5

First, she sent the emergency report, then she texted Pavel. _Dinner will have to wait. Come to bay six._ Then, she sat down on one of the shipping containers, and waited.

* * *

"How did you come to this realization?" Spock stood across from Dillan, hands clasped behind his back.

"I thought the scanner was acting wonky," Dillan explained, "So I checked its partners. Either they were all faulty by the same account, or there was something wrong here."

"Both explanations appear to be possible," Spock said.

"Which is why I turned my padd into a scanner and tested it myself." Dillan gave her tablet to him. "Try it on your own if you don't believe me." She stepped back to let him work.

Kirk followed Spock around the bay as he tested out her findings. Scotty went over each of the original bio scanners, copying their diagnostics over to his own padd. Two guards were posted at each of the entrances. The section had been cordoned off. No one was allowed in save for those present—and their one late arrival.

The guards at the closest entrance let Pavel through once they'd gotten the all-clear from Scotty. He went straight to Dillan, concern written over his face.

"I came as fast as I could," he said, reaching for her hand. "What is happening?"

She took his hand and pointed him to the explosion site. Spock held up her make-shift scanner to the wall.

"There," she said, pointing to a spot on the bulkhead. "Tell me what you see."

He squinted, searching for whatever abnormality they all saw. His gaze went to a small box located perhaps ten feet off the ground.

He looked at her after a moment. "The oxygen regulator."

"Definitely a better name than I made up, but yes." She pointed. "It's connected to a main tube by _that_ pipe there. That's how it connects to the rest of the system."

Pavel squinted again, then frowned. "The pipe is broken, which means there is no connection…" His eyes widened. "This area has not been getting enough oxygen." He shifted his gaze from the box, to the wall below it. "The metal… it will become corroded."

"I just love when you say horrible truths like that," Dillan murmured, then cleared her throat. "But yeah, you got just about everything right there. The regulator for _this_ section of the wall is completely done in, which _would_ be a simple fix…"

"—If the bio scanners were the real problem," Scotty said from behind them.

Dillan looked at him apprehensively.

Scotty grimaced. "Your theory checks out, Chasidy: there's a crack through the inner layers of the hull."

"I was really hoping to be wrong about that," she said quietly.

* * *

**Also, if you're looking for something to binge, HBO has made their series 'WATCHMEN' available for free this weekend (June 20-21). Highly relevant with the BLM protests going on, and well worth a watch.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So I checked my calendar yesterday, and realized I forgot to post last weekend! Sorry about that, total brain fart on my part -_-**

**But as for this chapter, it starts directly after the last one! Enjoy!**

Chapter 15: Covert Cooperation

* * *

"So if there's a leak," Kirk said, "Can't we just patch it up?"

"This is the hull of a starship, Kirk," Bones said, "Not a _spare tire. _Leave this unchecked for too long and it could lead to nitrogen poisoning." He shivered at the memory of that week in the Academy. The professor had told them a number a number of anecdotes on the various mal-effects of the _possibility_ of an oxygen imbalance.

Let's just say things started out with a basic fever, and… _progressed_ from there.

The guards now stood outside bay six. Everyone who had entered—including Bones—had changed into protective suits, complete with a stylish, crisis-averse oxygen mask. On Kirk's orders, they maintained a maximum five-metre distance away from the suspected site of the fissure at all times. The five who'd been there since the beginning would go through a rigorous decontamination process upon exiting.

"Technically, you're right," Dillan said, stepping in between them, "Although what you used for comparison concerns me greatly."

Scotty spoke quietly into his communicator off to the side, dictating that the sector be prepared for a week-long shut down. On the other side of the bay, Pavel helped two new guards clear the docking bay of any potentially dangerous materials.

Spock nodded. "Agreed on both counts."

Dillan might've cheered if the situation hadn't been so frustrating. How had she missed the broken pipe _and _the leak?

"But how bad is it really?" Kirk asked. "This is one of the smaller docking bays; we can just operate out of a different one."

"It's not the bay that matters," Dillan muttered.

They all looked at her. She fidgeted with her padd, returned from the Captain and First Officer.

"One of the regulators in this area hasn't been working for weeks, which makes me wonder why none of the surrounding ones picked up on the O2 deficiency. They're probably broken too in some respect, so we'll need to check on them as well… But what's most worrisome to me is how much oxygen-deficient air made it into the vents-and therefore, the rest of the ship. There's no quick way to tell how much of our supply is currently lacking. That and the fact that the integrity of the ship's hull has been compromised. Fixing that and the pipe would leave anyone susceptible to a multitude of dangers, not to mention that we'd need a full inspection of the walls in this bay to check for any other pieces that may have gone wrong or missing since the explos—_oh_." She froze.

Everyone else had long-since stopped talking, instead resigned in an attempt to decode her rambling, but that wasn't why she had stopped.

_Remember when you had to close off the fourth floor on MIKA?_

_ Yeah, and then a week later I realized what an easy fix it would have been had I decided to use a different material. Quick solve._

"Right…" she murmured, looking up at the disconnected oxygen regulator. "Two problems, one root cause." Lovely.

Pavel had come over during the speech, and now stood right next to her. He brushed his fingers along her wrist.

"Captain?" Spock said. Dillan blinked, snapping back to reality. She gave Pavel's hand a squeeze, acknowledging him.

"Yes?" Kirk responded.

"I recommend we return to Somerdale. It is outfitted with the highest quality Starfleet scanners and would serve us best in fixing this problem."

"Do you really think we can make it back there before anything else goes wrong?" Bones asked, his question directed just at much to Dillan as it was to the other superiors.

"Aye, we'd just need to take it slow, avoid any unsavoury interactions, or, eh, pushing the ship too much." Scotty glanced in Dillan's direction. "Pretty much the same as usual then, for us at least."

Dillan had retracted herself from the conversation, instead choosing to whisper to Chekov.

"And how quickly will this 'oxygen corrosion' spread, cadet?" Kirk asked. He caught Chekov's eye and made a questioning expression in Dillan's direction. Chekov gently shook her shoulder. She looked up, suddenly daunted by the idea of addressing them all again.

"Um, ah…" She winced, putting a hand to her forehead. "Based on my experience, yes. It's air, so yes, it spreads quickly. So we need to move… more quickly," she added.

"Alright… then that's what we'll do." Kirk motioned to dismiss them, and they lined up at the decontamination station.

Dillan gave Pavel a slight nudge to follow the rest of them. "I'll meet you after." Nodding dejectedly, he followed the Captain, First Officer, and CMO, just leaving her and Scotty behind.

Scotty followed Dillan over to the wall, watched her inspect the oxygen regulator from a distance.

"We should get going, lass," he said.

"I found another way," she murmured.

"What was that?" He asked, intrigued.

"I could restore the connection—go into the walls myself and re-align the tube," she said. "It wouldn't be easy, but I've done something like it before and I know I could do it again."

"That's very generous of you," he said cautiously. "But there are machines that can do just as good a job at Somerdale—and they won't be hurt by any of the other gases," he added as an amendment for her pride. "You know, the ones of the _flesh_-burning variety."

He waited until she promised him she wouldn't do anything rash before walking away. Dillan gave the wall one more long look, then followed him.

* * *

After wrapping each other in thermal blankets, Pavel and Dillan sat on the sofa in his apartment.

Pavel rested his back against her chest so she could play with his hair. Soon enough, she heard light snores coming from him.

Somehow this, even after going through a rigorous (and uncomfortably full-body) cleaning, was better than she thought a dinner out could have ever been.

After a few minutes of his heart beating steadily through their chests, Dillan reached above her head for her padd.

She turned on the screen, going through the backup of all the data she'd garnered that afternoon. She'd received a formal deletion request from Spock within an hour of their decontamination. Instead, she'd taken his own personal approach, and stored the files in triplicate. If most of them weren't so useful, she'd find his obsessive tendencies too grating to deal with.

Now, without her superiors' knowing, she had all the data to herself, and with no one to interrupt her, she began to form a plan.

* * *

MEMO:

To: Crew of the Enterprise

From: Captain James Kirk

Re: Course Change

As you all probably noticed, the Enterprise made an unplanned change in course at 1600 hours.

This was due to a deficiency found in our oxygen regulation systems, which will be fixed immediately once we reach Somerdale.

Neither you nor the ship are in immediate danger—and there is no need to break out those O2 masks just yet. We're expecting to reach Somerdale at the end of the week, so prepare yourself for some extra shore leave.

A FAQ list will be posted through out the ship's server, containing answers to all your 'what, why, and how?' questions. As for anything else, please see myself or Commander Spock during our office hours.

—Kirk

* * *

Dillan looked up fro her padd. "It's adequate. Does he really think you two will be able to combat the crew's questions on your own?"

Spock signed off on the cart of samples while looking at her. "I'm sure the lists you wrote will be sufficient."

He let Dillan push the cart beside him while they took the samples to storage.

"Right—and I appreciate the compliment," she said. "But I just don't think it'll be enough."

He reached for a sample on the cart and she paused mid-step. He adjusted the small glass container, pushing it closer to its friends. Once Spock retracted his hand from the cart, Dillan resumed pushing it.

"Do you have any additions?" He asked.

"Additions?" She trailed off, looking at the rest of his workshop and away from her task at hand. Spock nudged the cart back on course before she could realize that she'd led it astray.

"Something that you feel needs to be added to the list," he elaborated.

She stayed silent for a moment, which drew his attention.

"Not exactly an addition…" she said. "More like a possible solution."

She stopped once they reached the large, circular door to the storage room. Spock tapped out his password and they entered.

"Why did you not see fit to suggest this during our initial meeting?" He asked.

"I wasn't entirely sure about it then," Dillan murmured, and proceeded to help him shelve the samples. "But it reminds me of something I had to deal with on Aguas. Similar scenario—with the oxygen an' all."

She held out a container marker K-61, a questioning expression on her face.

"That shelf," he said, pointing above her head.

"Right." She turned and shelved the sample. "So, as I was saying: I have a way to repair the connection. We don't have to waste all this time going back to Somerdale."

"Do you know a way to fix it, or do you think you know?" Spock asked.

Dillan thought to herself for a moment. Spock transferred the last of the samples from cart to shelf.

Finally, she said, "I can't really be sure until I get a closer look."

Spock rolled the cart out of the storage container. Dillan followed him.

"And I can't get a closer look with all the security there! Please, Commander, I promise it'll be worthwhile."

He stopped and she nearly stumbled past him. Dillan looked at Spock's face, but couldn't get a read on his expression.

He returned her gaze. "Are you aware of what nitrogen is?"

Dillan looked away. "Of course… I'm not an idiot."

He went silent, prompting her for an explanation.

She rolled her eyes. "It's an _element_: part of our liveable atmosphere's make-up—I know what you're getting at here." She turned to go. "Just spare me the lecture; I've heard it twice already."

* * *

"And what's frustrating is that I _know_ I can do something—they just won't give me a chance!"

Pavel nodded, trying to enjoy his dinner as best he could.

"And to think that Scotty said I don't know the ship well enough—I was on my own for _years_ and learned it all then!"

"Mhmm."

"I've been here for _months_!" Dillan cried, throwing up her hands—but luckily, not her food. "I know my way around just fine…"

"Have you tried the Captain?" Pavel asked.

Dillan shook her head, sinking back into her chair. The soft lights of his apartment made for decent mood lighting, but did little to raise her spirits.

"Spock shut me right down. I'm sure they're knee-deep in questions by now." She sighed. "No point to it anymore…"

He ate some more. She took the moment to gauge her reaction. He seemed to be buying it.

"This food is nice, though," she said, pulling her bowl a little closer. "Home recipe, you said?"

He shrugged. "As much as it can be with the replicators."

She took his hand. "This is great." He looked up from the dish. "I'm glad we rescheduled."

He nodded. "We will just have to deal Uhura and Sulu tomorrow."

Dillan laughed nervously. "I know… I feel so bad, they spent a _week_ planning Andrew's baby party."

"Americans call it a 'shower'," Pavel said, mouth full.

"Really? Wonder why…" She'd have to find out before tomorrow. She didn't want any nagging questions on her mind while she was repairing the oxygen regulator.

* * *

Dillan woke to a message on her padd. Uhura had texted her later that evening, asking where she and Pavel were. They'd been asleep for an hour by that point.

After planting a soft kiss on Pavel's forehead, she slipped out from under the covers and left his apartment.

On her own bed, she laid her supplies out in a fan around her. Toolkit, soldering torch, padd, oxygen mask and tank, and finally, a gift bag.

She set her replicator on its highest speed to make certain that the gift would be ready in time. Then she set to work on the hypo she'd taken from med bay.

She practiced flipping it from left hand, to right, mock-ejecting its capsule each time it touched her right. She needed to be completely fluid in drugging her target.

The replicator and her padd beeped in unison. One signalled that the gift was done, the other her fifteen minute countdown.

She loaded the hypo with its proper capsule, then went to retrieve the gift.

Hissing as they burned her fingers, she dropped them into their container as fast as she could. The container went into the gift bag which was shoved—along with all her other supplies—into her backpack.

She left her apartment at 0800 hours, following the blue dot on her padd's tracker that signalled her target.

* * *

Andrews' uniform stretched across her belly with an uncomfortable taughtness. Being too embarrassed to request _another _change, she'd opted to wear a pair of Venter's pants underneath. Her friends back home had told her she was at the point where she'd just stop caring about appearances, but they also didn't have to work on a ship with 300 other people.

Yoga couldn't do anything more for her back, and despite McCoy's arguments, she didn't want to take on any more prescriptions. One month to go, and she felt worse than ever.

Rounding a corner, she struck out for the wall as their little one started to play soccer with the inside of her stomach.

"Ease up there, kiddo," she said, resuming her steady waddle down the hall. "You know I hate these walks just as much as you do."

She took a deep breath as she walked towards the quarantine zone. While the Enterprise limped back to Somerdale, everyone walked on eggshells around this area.

You'd think that with the plethora of like-minded scientists aboard, they'd be able to quash the fear-mongering that surrounded their O2 crisis. Still, she found herself taking shorter and shorter breaths as she neared Bay 6—the source of their oxygen deficiency, and the accident that had taken two of their own just weeks before.

"Hey, Andrews!" A voice called from behind her. She turned, one hand on her hip, to see a flustered Cadet Chasidy jogging up to her.

Down the corridor ahead of them, the red shirt guarding the side entrance to Bay 6 craned his neck. Having been stuck there alone for the past four hours, Harrev was desperate for any sign of intelligent life.

Chasidy caught her breath before they continued down the corridor.

"What's in the bag?" Andrews asked, eyeing the backpack that seemed to weigh her down _considerably._

"Oh, just… supplies." Chasidy waved her off.

Andrews laughed. "Alright then, don't tell me."

Chasidy ignored the remark, producing a gift bag from her left side. "For you and Venter," she said, trying to keep her gaze away from Andrews' belly. "Sorry I missed the party—er, shower," she corrected.

Andrews smiled and accepted the gift. "That would have been your first, I gather?"

"Yeah," Dillan said, falling a step behind her. "I'll have to catch the next one."

Andrews scoffed, shifting the tissue paper aside to get a peek at what was in the bag. _A plush toy._ She and Venter had received three others the night before, all replicated to cotton-filled perfection.

"Not that- that I meant _your_ next baby," Chasidy stuttered, now directly behind her. "I just meant, whatever next baby shower I'm invited to."

At least this one looked unique. Some kind of cross between a bird and a squirrel, maybe? Mildly horrified, Andrews resolved to keep it as far away from their child until they were of an appropriate age—if it didn't get tossed in the bin before then.

"Hmm?" Andrews hummed, just as she felt a sharp sting on the back of her neck, followed by the foreboding, and unfortunately familiar hiss of a hypospray.

"What the hell was that?" She cried, slapping her palm to where the injection site had been.

Dillan pulled away, the hypo leaking a few leftover drops of sedative onto the floor. Andrews turned around, confusion and outrage written across her face.

"Please, just trust me. It's practically harmless, I only needed a minute, and you were the only one—" Even as she said the words, the look on Andrews' face told Dillan she'd made an enemy for life.

"Harmless?" Andrews lurched towards her, her steps already falling short. "What wuh _in _tha?"

Dillan put her hands out, either to fend her off or to catch her."

Andrews eyes widened as she noticed the slur in her own speech.

"Wuh…. Wuh wood yoo doo…" Her whole body swayed, and Dillan stepped in to catch her by the shoulders as her knees gave out.

"Help!" She cried, alerting the guard at the entrance to Bay 6. "Something's happened!"

Harrev was there in seconds, assessing the unconscious—and heavily pregnant—ensign in the cadet's arms.

"She- she just collapsed," Dillan said. "I don't know what the matter is, but she's so close to term and I don't know what to do, I'm not a—"

"I will take her to medical," Harrev said, swooping Andrews' unconscious form into his arms. "But someone needs to stand guard at _that_ door." He nodded in the direction he'd come from.

"I can do that, "Dillan said, feigning breathlessness. "I can, uh, stand guard…" but Harrev was already walking down the hall at a brisk pace, supporting Andrews' head with the crook of his elbow.

Dillan looked after them in disbelief, not entirely sure how the first phase of her plan had gone so perfectly.

* * *

She got dressed in the corridor outside Bay 6, situated inside a blindspot from the security cameras.

The suit cinched shut at her ankles, waist, wrists, and neck. Boots, gloves, and the oxygen mask went on after. She filled the only uncovered space on her right side with the oxygen capsule—about the size of the palm of her hand—and it clipped into place. She inhaled, and the air filtered through the capsule, then through the tube that connected it to her mask, and into her lungs.

The carbon dioxide she expelled recycled itself back into oxygen inside the capsule, so she had a near-infinite supply. She'd become her own, self-sustaining biodome.

Hoisting her bag over one shoulder, Dillan punched in the security code she'd gotten from Scotty's padd while he was on a break.

She may have been deceiving a ton of people in the process, but she knew it would be worth it by the end of the day.

A maintenance warning flashed across the door's port screen, and Dillan gave it an affectionate tap as she entered. Once inside, the side entrance to Bay 6 shut without a sound.

Once Dillan locked both doors from the inside—staying out of sight of the guards at the main entrance—she removed a number of panels, exposing the inner workings of the wall. Each panel was about one metre tall and wide, and weighed about as much as her bag. By the time she'd finished dragging four of them out of the way, sweat was dripping down her back.

The wires billowed out from the wall in droves. Some were held together by elastic bindings, forming much larger cables, while others curled around the inner support beams all on their own.

Dillan pushed a curtain of cables aside, revealing a doorway just wide enough to fit an average-sized person. She retrieved her tools and stepped through the door. She looked up into the cylindrical tunnel that lead up through the three-metre walls of the Enterprise.

With the push of a button, a ladder came out from one sidel, its rungs stretching up into the darkness, toward the oxygen regulator.

She had her essential tools tucked into a pack slung around her waist—fine-tipped screwdrivers and a scanner mainly reserved for surveying small planetoids.

Tucking her padd under one arm, her portable soldering iron under the other, she started her way up the tunnel.

* * *

Pavel finished his day shift on the bridge and went straight to the gym. The more time he spent with Dillan, the more he felt the need to improve himself.

He debated sending her another message, but that would make it the third that hour to go unanswered.

He passed Spock upon exiting the lift. They made eye contact, then looked away as quickly as possible. The memo released earlier that week hadn't gone over well, and Pavel felt like he was looking for anyone to blame.

Everyone was tip-toeing around the ship right now, worrying that one wrong step would make the ship implode.

* * *

The ship surrounded her on every side. A _thrum_ that echoed through the cables at a steady beat. The ship's heartbeat, whether real or imaginary.

Dillan had never felt closer to anything. Not even on Aguas.

The oxygen regulator jutted out from the wall 7 metres up the tunnel. Dillan finished the climb in less than a minute.

The regulator connected to the main source of oxygen through six different cables. All of them flowed out one side of the wall, through the metal box that served as a transfer unit, then back out the wall again through the regulator to the bay outside.

Her hand reached the highest rung, and Dillan pulled herself up eye-to-eye with what had caused them so much stress over the past two weeks.

Half of the box was crushed. Imploded, she soon saw, by what must have been the shockwave from Sulu's destroyed shuttle.

"There you are," she said, relief and concern flashing across her face.

The tunnel above her expanded into a small bubble of space surrounding the regulator box, most likely for any real maintenance workers who came in from outside the ship. Dillan placed her equipment there instead, choosing to remain on the ladder, her knees pressed against one side of the tunnel, her back against the other.

She straightened up, putting her elbows on the platform. The box was just a few inches from her face. She her knuckles. She'd have to remove the crumpled exterior of the box. Her metal arm hadn't had to do anything this intricate in months.

The joints in her right shoulder whirred happily as she solidified her grip on the outer shell of the box. Her fingers locked around it, sensors picking up the clear sensation of cool metal and plastic wiring.

With a deep breath, she pulled her hand back, bringing the cover with it. Sparks flashed in front of her visor. She squinted and leaned back into the other side of the tunnel until they died down, revealing the mess of snapped cables and frayed wiring inside the box.

"Not like it was gonna be easy…"

She placed the cover well away from the edge of the platform. If it fell, she would have to go back down the tunnel to retrieve it, and that was time she didn't have to waste.

Their problem had grown over time. Like a leak back on Aguas, when left unnoticed, it could screw you over in ways you could never imagine. The same would have occurred with the diluted oxygen—had Dillan not noticed it.

Once this was over, everyone on board would be safe, and their mission could get back on track.

* * *

"That's it, lay her down nice an' easy." Bones stepped back and let Harrev do the rest, realizing the Orion had a handle on placing Andrews on the biobed.

Nurse Javel pulled up a report document as the bed took note of Andrews' vitals.

"How did this happen?" Bones asked Harrev as he inspected the unnaturally furrowed expression that seemed stuck on Andrews' brow.

Harrev shook his head and stepped away from the bed. "I do not know."

"You didn't see anyone that could have had something to do with it?" As much as it made his stomach roll, Bones couldn't yet rule out the possibility that one of their fellow crew was the cause of Andrews' current state. Even—Harrev—the one who'd brought her in would become a suspect if foul play became apparent.

"There was only the cadet," Harrev said. His shoulders dropped. Just a fraction, but enough for Bones to understand the solemn change in his stance. "I… I was directed to remain where I was. —At the entrance to Bay 6," he explained.

Bones looked up, connecting that Bay 6 was where their O2 malfunction had originated—was originating—from.

"I only left my post once I heard the call for help," Harrev said."

_Believe me._ The suggestion tugged briefly at Bones' mind. He looked at Harrev, his brow dipping into a stern stare. Harrev shrunk back.

Bones opened his mouth only to snap it shut when Nurse Javel spoke up.

"McCoy, there's traces of a sedative in the Ensign's readings."

A dozen emotions, already simmering due to the rest of his day, reach a boiling point. He came up with a number of expletives to shout, each one of them more wrath-filled than the last. Someone had drugged a member of their crew—a _pregnant_ member of their crew—and when he got his hands on them, they'd receive the greatest verbal lashing of their life.

"Is it lethal?" He asked, keeping his voice at an unsettlingly calm level.

"No: it's a small dose. She should wake within the hour," Javel said quietly. She'd only seen Bones explode once before during the five-year mission. The Captain had stayed silent for an entire hour afterward.

Bones set a glass of water down on Andrews' bedside table, then looked back at Harrev. Harrev shifted back slightly on his heels. Someone aboard the ship was out of order, and he had a sinking feeling of who it might be.

"You mentioned a cadet?" Bones said.

* * *

Repairing the wires took longer than Dillan would have liked.

She was either completely in the dark, or had her eyes overridden entirely by sparks shooting out from the transfer box.

_Note to self: bring a light for future projects._ Her only other light source was the dim glow that reached up from the tunnel entrance below her.

She flexed her human toes stuck in her boot while reaching for the soldering iron to her left.

"Aggh!" She exclaimed, and kicked her foot against the tunnel wall. The pins-and-needles sensation subsided for the moment, and she was able to concentrate enough to extend the new cording to the first cable.

Two to go, and her back had only _just_ started to ache. Hunched over the platform, elbows propped up on either side of the box, she moved on to the next cable.

Her task was simple enough: reconnect the split cables and re-wrap the type of silicon around them that corresponded with their function. The working environment was what made her current task unadvisable under Starfleet's working standards—which surprised her given the rumours she'd heard about the Captain's tenacity for adventure (and self-risk).

Kirk hadn't seemed especially on the fence about the decision, mainly agreeing with Spock for once. Maybe their hesitancy was still leeching from the crew members they'd lost in the shuttle explosion.

If she'd only been able to speak up at the time, Dillan thought, mid-way through rewrapping, then melting the rubber around the new cable. Then she wouldn't have been forced to take such drastic measures.

With the second-to-last cable re-formatted, she gave herself a moment to relax.

Noting the sound O2 levels in her tank, she shook out her left foot. The prickling sensation shrank back to her pinkie toe, and she continued her work.

The second-to-last cable fit snugly with the rest in what remained of their transfer box. The last cable, after it had been spliced back together, took some shoving.

Finally, she reattached the cover over the cables using her soldering iron.

It's fiery red glow lit up the front of her visor. The heat was penetrating, and very quickly in its prolonged exposure, the inside of her suit dripped with condensation.

She left the iron running and placed it to her left. The red-hot edges of the newly reformed connection box soon dimmed in the absence of its heat.

She waited for a minute, listening to the ship hum and adjust to its repairs.

The box cooled quickly. Once she could tap its side without melting the fingertips of her suit, she untucked her padd from her belt and opened up the system commands app.

She'd syphoned the code off of Scotty's personal desktop so she'd be able to use it just this once. Dillan told herself that she'd delete the code first thing after this was finished, but a part of her had already begun to question the reasonability of that.

Here, in her oversized front pocket, she had possibly the most valuable tool aboard the Enterprise. The capacity to shut down, or restart any of its individual systems at will.

She took off her right glove to better access her padd, and without much thought, placed it next to the iron.

In the app, she navigated to Bay Six. Her finger hovered over the screen, just moments away from the icon that would restart the oxygen flow into Bay 6.

"Ohshutupyourebeingsilly," she blurted out and impulsively pressed the screen. The icon turned from red to green, and she heard a whirr start up from inside the box.

Dillan let out a sigh of relief, knowing that in a matter of minutes, a heavily-regulated abundance of clean, fresh, _breathable_ air would start flowing through Bay Six. Things could go back to normal now.

She leisurely made her way back down the ladder, pausing every now and then to admire her work.

By the time she reached the bottom of the ladder, the lacklustre soldering job on the box had weakened. The iron, still turned on and abandoned inside the tunnel.

Dillan took off her oxygen mask. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

The glove she'd left behind, too close to the iron for comfort, caught alight. Just a few embers—barely a spark. It was more than enough.

Dillan frowned catching a foreign, smoky smell from somewhere in her vicinity. She went back to the door in the wall to make one last check.

The new influx of oxygen through the regulator made contact with the sparks, their chemical combination a recipe for disaster.

Dillan's instincts made her rear back, right hand coming up to cover her face, just as the plume of fire came crashing down on her.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: This chapter starts right after the last one, so let's get into it! Thank you for reading :D**

**TW: brief descriptions of burn injuries, minor body horror**

Chapter 16: Blame Game

* * *

"Captain, our smoke sensors have detected a fire in Bay Six." Ensign Venter, Sulu's now-shadow trainee, stumbled over his words, stammering his way through the impromptu announcement.

_Fire. _No matter the context, a fire in space was the last thing anyone on a starship wanted to hear.

_Bay Six._ Kirk wanted to jump out an airlock. That couldn't mean anything good.

Still, duty called, and his day wasn't supposed to be over for another three hours.

"Pull up the security feeds for that area, Ensign."

The crew knew what Bay Six meant: an exploded shuttle, an oxygen imbalance, and now a fire. A _fire._

If it got out of control, spread to the other areas of the Enterprise, they would have to abandon ship and make for the nearest life-supporting planetoid in their escape pods.

Sulu opened up an empty doc, preparing to type out a message to Ben once Venter's back was turned. He'd have to be vague—as well as discrete—in his message. There was no need to frighten him any more than was obvious.

They waited for Kirk to assess the situation. When it showed up on his display, he flicked through each view of the loading bay, heart sinking with each new camera angle.

After a moment, he transferred the feed to the bridge's main display.

Chekov wasn't on the bridge right then. Sulu was thankful for that, as what showed up next on the main display was more than difficult to see.

Spock stood up, staring directly at the figure sprawled across the ground in the security feed live from Bay Six. Uhura shook her head, lips forming the first words of a desperate plea.

Projected across their front window were a dozen variations on the same scene: a woman, lying curled up on her side, half a bio-suit covering her body, blond hair burnt all the way down to her scalp. Small fires littered the ground around her.

The above view gave them a decent look at her profile. The flesh had melted off, leaving behind patches of shining metal underneath. The fire had charred her to the point of making their stomachs churn, but not enough to hide who they could all see it was.

Kirk transferred the feed before too much time had passed. A dead silence had overcome the bridge. He looked at Venter, the poor man who'd had the responsibility of announcing all of this.

"Ensign, inform Mr. Scott of the breach and alert medical that they have an incoming patient. After that, figure out who's supposed to be guarding the exits to Bay Six. It's meant to be cordoned off entirely."

"Yes, sir," Venter said. He went to work.

Kirk nodded. "Sulu do you know where Chekov is?"

"Not currently, sir," Sulu said, already getting up and out of his chair. "But I'll find him."

"Do that and bring him to med bay." Kirk didn't have the time to ponder whether or not that was the best call just then. He turned to his First Officer. "Spock, you're with me." Then to the Lieutenant beside him. "Uhura, you have the bridge. We… we'll probably need a course change." He got out of the chair, a grimace written plain across his face.

"Captain." Uhura nodded to him as he, Spock, and Sulu made for the turbolift.

The rest of the present crew pretended not to watch as she made her way towards the chair, pausing for a moment before sitting on its edge.

The turbo lift closed with a sudden finality, leaving them to wait and watch what they could through the security cameras.

* * *

"Alright, alright, you have my attention." Scotty placed his tea cup on the radiator he was reviewing. "But just so you know," he told Keenser, who'd come running in from another sector of the Engineering offices. "This is meant to be my tea time."

Without warning, Keenser tossed a communicator in his direction. Scotty yelped, jumping back to catch it as it nearly sailed right over his head.

"What was the point of that?!" He cried, thinking to mention how strong of a throw it had been just before Sulu's voice interrupted him from the other side of the line.

"Scotty, listen to me, alright? This is more important than your third tea today."

Scotty huffed to himself. "I'll have you know this would have only been my second."

Keenser shook his head, making an exasperated 'go on' gesture in his direction.

"Right," Scotty said, sending a confused look Keenser's way. "What's happening that's got you in such a rush?"

"Seriously, Scotty…" Sulu exhaled heavily on the other line. "It's to do with Bay Six. I don't know what Dillan thought she was doing, and, god, now I have to tell Pavel." He took in a deep, shaky breath. "There's a fire, Scotty. _Fires_, actually. You need to head there right now."

For a few seconds, on the other side, all Sulu heard was silence. Then he yanked his communicator away from his ear as Scotty roared that he should have led with that through the other side.

* * *

Nurse Javel started at the sudden message on her padd.

_Correspondence for CMO McCoy:_

_ Incoming patient: human, female, badly burned. Prepare biosphere for approximate 10-minute arrival from Bay Six._

She showed it to her superior, who was still looking over the pregnant Ensign brought in earlier that day.

He took the message off her hands, gripping it as if he meant to crack the screen.

Doctor McCoy read the message, then handed it off to the Orion responsible.

On her own intuition, Nurse Jackson set the command for a biosphere around bed number fifteen—just three away from Ensign Andrews'. By the time she turned around to confirm her suspicions with Doctor McCoy, the Orion had left the room.

* * *

Harrev pushed his way through the crowd gathered outside the side entrance to Bay Six—the one _he _was meant to be guarding.

While his red uniform blended in amongst the observers from the security corps, his green skin did anything but.

Some people stepped aside to let him through, while others just stared. He nodded politely to the former, and ignored the latter.

He meant to retake his place and get the group gathered around the entrance to back off. His sights were set on that until he saw that a pair of lieutenants from his cohort had taken up his position. He immediately averted his gaze and tried to melt into the crowd. One more infraction on his duties, and he'd be facing a suspension.

The clean-up crew—comprised of a motley gathering of department chiefs—had already suited up and made their way inside.

"Hey."

Harrev started at the light touch on his wrist. Even after all these months, he still had trouble containing his averse reactions. (_Defensive reactions_, his therapist had told him. He was still getting used to listening to him.)

"What's going on?" Sam asked, looking from him to what they could see through the port screen to Bay Six. "I heard that there was an accident."

Harrev looked from his eyes to his lips, then took his hand in his. "I heard the same," he said. _And it's my fault._

The two lieutenants stood outside the door, making sure people moved on before any of them got too close of a look. Soon enough, Harrev and Sam were at the front. Close enough to reach out and touch the door, if it weren't for the replacement guards.

"Anything you want to tell me?" Sam asked, now focusing his attention entirely on Harrev.

His chin fell, eyes squeezing shut.

"Hey, hey," Sam said, pulling him away from the entrance (and the crowd). "Are you having one of your—"

"-No," Harrev gasped. "It's not that." He held onto Sam's hand for support. "It's just… what happened here: it's all my fault."

The hall seemed to shrink from under his feet, taking the air from his lungs along with it.

* * *

By the time the recovery team had retrieved their wounded crew member, Sulu had located Chekov. In the gym—probably the one farthest from Medbay.

While Spock and Kirk strapped Dillan onto a hover-stretcher, Sulu had Chekov take a seat on one of the benches lining the gym wall.

The two guards attending Bay Six's exit had cleared it of any curious pairs of eyes.

The CMO rushed through to meet the team bringing the stretcher out. In one hand, he wielded a scanner, in the other, a hypospray.

Two nurses trailing behind him whisked the stretcher out of Kirk and Spock's hands. Bones spared them no glances, focusing entirely on the patient at hand.

* * *

"So," Pavel said, passing his water bottle from hand to hand. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Sulu watched the water bottle more from one hand to the other, then back again. He chewed his lip. The sounds of weights being lifted, feet pounding the floor, and machines humming in time to the users' heartbeats filled the room—and his head.

"Pavel…" he began, dreading every moment of this. "Have you heard from Dillan recently?" _Foolish crackpot of a mechanic—_words he was sure had crossed Scotty's lips by now.

Pavel caught the water bottle in his left hand, staring down at it, still blissfully ignorant. "No, but we were thinking of having dinner tonight." He looked up at Sulu. "Why do you ask?"

Sulu took a deep breath. He'd never had to do something like this before. "Sit with me?" He gestured to one of the benches along the gym wall.

Chekov gave him a weird look, but nevertheless joined him. He watched his friend of five years twist and turn uncomfortably, seeming at a loss for words—the first time he'd ever seen him like that.

"Sulu…" Pavel began, an uneasy pit growing in his stomach. "What is going on?"

Sulu took a deep breath and faced him. "There was an accident. She—_Dillan—_was involved somehow—we don't exactly know what happened right now."

Pavel shrank away as Sulu put out a comforting hand. "What do you mean 'involved'?" His voice was half concern, half anger.

"She's hurt," Sulu said. "Badly."

Pavel stood up, turning away from him, and laced his fingers around the back of his head.

"Pavel?" Sulu asked when he began to pace back and forth, eyes flashing around the room as he thought.

"She's alive?"

"Yes. In medbay." _For now_, Sulu thought to himself.

Pavel was already running out the door.

* * *

"How's the pillow at your side? —Should I get another one?"

"I-" Andrews looked up from her biobed, keeping her groans internal for the time being. She forced a smile onto her face. "Yeah, that'd be great, sweetie."

Venter went to the three beds to her right, poking and prodding at each pillow he found. Andrews rolled her eyes at his doting. At the start of her pregnancy, she'd made him promise not to turn into a nervous wreck by the end.

His resolve had faded over the last seven-and-a-half months, leading to the busy-bee attitude he now displayed at a near constant rate.

Still, she couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Each week Andrews felt more and more burdened by the weight growing in her core, but his heart seemed lighter than ever.

To sate his house-husband nature, Andrews stuffed two more pillows between the bed board and her back. She stared over her belly to her sock-clad feet, rendered useless by the sedative, now lying awkwardly at the other end of the bed. Seven months earlier, she'd been able to reach forward and touch them with ease. Now, she had a beach ball in her way.

Venter sat down next to her legs, taking her hand in his own. His eyes searched Andrews' neck and collarbone for a mark—any sign of the injection site.

Sighing, Andrews pulled his hand into her lap. "I told you already: stop thinking about it like that. There's no one out to get me."

"Just one person…" Venter said quietly. "And you won't even tell me their name."

"I will when the day is over," Andrews said, thinking back to the amicable expression on Chasidy's face moments before she drugged her. Telling Venter now—when they had no idea what had happened to the mechanic or why she'd done it—wouldn't do any good.

The padd on her bedside table beeped. Venter picked it up and checked the notifications.

"It's been an hour," he said. He motioned towards the sample container, also on the bedside table. "Want me to do it?"

Chuckling, Andrews took it herself before his face got any greener. "My gentle man."

Venter got up and turned away as she opened the container to reveal the small hypo inside.

"Cover your ears," she murmured, then pushed it under her skin. She winced, hissing through her teeth.

Once the hypo was out, the blood sample making its way through a series of tests, Andrews clicked her tongue. Venter turned back around.

The readings from the sample transferred to the padd with a resounding _beep_. Andrews tucked the hypo out of sight so Venter could sit down again.

He took up the padd. She heard a sigh of discontentment from him as he read it over.

"Hm?" She reached over and tilted the screen down. "What does it say?"

"There's still a bit left over," Venter sighed. "Two-point-two percent, to be precise."

"Well, then I'm stuck here for at least another hour," Andrews said, faking a cheerful attitude.

"I don't understand why you can't just sleep this off back at our room," he grumbled.

"I think_ sleeping _is the last thing I should be doing right now," Andrews joked.

Venter shook his head and stood up.

"Oh, really?" She said. Still, he started to pace back and forth. "It was a _joke. _It you're really that bothered by me staying here, we can take it up with McCoy."

Venter turned on his heel and strode back towards her. "It's not him—" she heard him growl, but he turned and paced back in the other direction before she could hear the rest.

"Sorry—what was that?" Andrews shifted her legs out from under the blankets and moved to the edge of her bed.

Venter put his head in his hands, choking back a cry. "I said it's not him I want to take it up with!"

Andrews closed her eyes. Imagining the moments before Chasidy knocked her out, she felt her hands start to shake. Unable to stop it, she turned each one into a fist and tucked them under her thighs.

"Don't say things like that," she whispered when Venter passed her by.

"H—how can I not?" He said. "I-I'm _enraged_, I want to tear them apart—and when we find them I _will—_I just—"

"Just stop!" Andrews gasped.

He did, mid-step, and turned around.

Andrews laughed, shaking her head. Venter stared at her hunched figure, furrowed brow, and hurt expression.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have—what we practiced…"

"It'll be alright," Andrews said, opening her eyes. Then: "I_ see_ you."

After a moment, he repeated the phrase back to her. She beckoned for him and he went to her. She patted her knee, then her stomach.

"Move on from that. What matters is that Louan and I are _safe."_

Venter nodded. "I know, I'll try—" He froze. "Did you just—?"

Andrews rolled her eyes. "You were right: it _did_ grow on me the more I thought about it…" She rubbed her stomach.

"You really mean that?" He asked.

She nodded, captured by the pure joy swimming in his eyes. _"_Louan_ Andrews."_

Venter kissed her. She grabbed his hand and in that moment, he didn't pay any mind to the trembling in his grip.

After they separated, she watched him celebrate by running a victory lap through med bay.

He went around her bed, practically skipping through the rest.

She settled in for another dreary hour, comforted only by the fact that they both had the next two days off.

Venter was making his way back towards her, just about to pass the main bay entrance, when a group of crew members rushed inside.

His path became blocked by the crowd. He struggled to catch a glimpse of Andrews through the surging mass of people.

She straightened up in her bed, paling when she saw who had been carted in on the hover stretcher.

A mixture of high and low-level crew members brought Chasidy in, laying her down three bio beds from Andrews.

The way Doctor McCoy worked the scene made her exhausted just by watching him. He did it with a confidence only someone with his years of experience could pull off.

He directed the nurses to strip Chasidy of her suit, and only then did Andrews notice the burns covering her skin.

Everyone apart from the medical crew was shooed away—including Venter. His eyes held onto hers until they couldn't see each other anymore.

The nurses pulled off Chasidy's suit in layers. Bones directed one of them to take the torn fabric to the incinerator. As he carried the remnants of the suit past Andrews, she reached out for him.

"—Hey, what's going on?" She asked. He registered her for a moment, but moved past without saying a word.

Andrews looked back at Chasidy's bed, only to gag at the sight of Bones pulling a stretch of skin off her forearm that was at least 6 inches long.

She didn't do body horror. Venter enjoyed some of those movies—ones where the characters had creatures shooting out of their skin—but her stomach just couldn't take it.

She scrambled out of her bed, falling to the floor in the process. Her tailbone stung, hands immediately going to her stomach to feel for any wrongness.

Bones didn't turn towards the crash, instead sending a nurse to check on her. The one who'd disposed of Chasidy's suit took her place, handing Bones a tray of hyposprays.

Andrews got to her feet, reaching out to her IV stand for support. She knocked it over. Clattering to the ground, it pulled her back down along with it. She stayed down this time, happy to hide from whatever that was on the bed three down from hers.

Then someone helped her up, and, seeing the ashen colour of Andrews' face, lead her away to a different part of medbay.

* * *

Dillan remembered seeing the fire, but, luckily enough, didn't remember the feeling of it.

The force of it threw her back and she hit her head, knocking all sense into darkness.

_You. Idiot._ A child, dream-like version of herself said, leading her down a corridor.

Dillan wondered what the girl meant, and where they were headed, until the girl disappeared and she was alone, on a bed, surrounded by a translucent sphere. She'd had just enough time in the corridor to notice that the girl was human. Completely flesh and bone, without a touch of metal or fabricated skin on her.

The sphere let the fluorescent light through, spreading a hazy glow through the air around her.

Dillan didn't remember coming here, but she did remember waking up in the coming days. She would certainly never forget the pain in those first few moments. The hurt of it all; her skin—there wasn't enough of it to cover her completely. Her outsides felt raw; stripped clean down to the muscle.

Waking up to a haze of blue light and six pairs of hands—or was it a dozen?

Shouts of 'movement!' And 'sedative' and 'more, you idiot.' Then she was back in the darkness. Stuck underwater, cold, shivering, and alone—until she wasn't.

* * *

Bandages rustled as Dillan tried to sit up. Her vision seemed different somehow, like she could only see part of what was in front of her.

She hadn't been able to sit up, and when she tried to touch her right ear, she realized why.

Leather belts—not unlike the ones you'd find on the bridge—criss-crossed the bed, confining her in place. The sheets rustled as she moved about, trying to twist her way out from under them.

In her periphery, she saw an IV stand, and beside that, a spotless white bedside table.

Everything felt way too clean. Where was she? She couldn't be on the Enterprise—they didn't strap people into their beds there, did they?

She heard the clink of metal rings sliding along a pole, and the light shifted.

Andrews slid the curtain aside and stepped into Dillan's nook. She left it just enough ajar so that if she turned her head, Dillan could see the line of bio beds outside. Med bay. The starfleet insignia on Andrews' uniform. She _was _on the Enterprise.

Andrews stood over Dillan, her chin just hidden out of sight above the swell of her stomach. As she realized why she of all people would be here, a slew of apologies flitted through Dillan's mind, each more hollow than the last.

Dillan opened her mouth. "I can exp-"

Andrews sat down on the bed. Her added weight stretched the sheets and belts tighter across Dillan's bandages. Dillan bit her tongue to hold back a whimper.

Andrews fiddled with the hem of her off-duty shirt, looking from Dillan's right side, then to her left. Dillan tried to make eye contact with her, only to realize that her own left eye had swollen shut. Or it had been bandaged up. Whichever it was, she could only see through her right, bionic eye—and even that one was a bit foggy.

Dillan opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when Andrews got up. She fiddled with the controls for Dillan's biobed, making her wonder if she was turning off the pulse sensors so she could strangle her without anyone noticing.

Andrews looked to the other side of Dillan's biobed—the part she had difficulty seeing—and smiled sadly. When she looked back down at Dillan, she frowned.

"You can't see him, can you?"

The upper half of Dillan's body started to rise, and then she was able to see Pavel. Sleeping, curled up in a chair next to her.

When the bed brought Dillan to a forty-five degree angle, Andrews sat back down.

Beside them, Pavel shifted in his sleep.

Dillan looked from him to her. "Andrews, I—"

"-Nothing you say will make me feel any different."

Eyebrows raised, Dillan snapped her mouth shut. She only needed one functioning eye to see how badly she'd fucked up.

Andrews sighed, glancing in Pavel's direction. "I used to think he'd never settle down. So energetic, hardly anyone could keep up with him." She looked at Dillan. _Until you,_ her eyes said.

Dillan searched for, then found the mark on Andrews' neck. A small, red dot that had driven this wedge between them—even before they'd gotten to properly know each other. Andrews looked up and down her right arm, then frowned.

Dillan's right arm and leg felt so bare, and yet she couldn't get a good enough look at them to see what was wrong.

Andrews shook her head. "Only a few people have ever gotten away with the kind of dumb shit you pulled yesterday. …It's just dumb luck that our captain happens to be one of them."

A sudden smile came over Andrews' face. She put her hand over her stomach. If Dillan's hearing had been at full capacity, she would have heard the tiny bumps as the baby kicked.

"Yesterday, I learned to cherish what I love, Chasidy." While Andrews' attention was focused on her stomach, Dillan turned her own back to Pavel. "I suggest you do the same."

Andrews got up and waddled towards the exit to the biodome. Dillan was about to exhale in relief, when she heard Andrews click her tongue to make one last remark.

"Oh, and if you ever try anything near me or my baby ever again, I'll stuff your body so far up a Jeffries tube they'll have to take the ship apart to get you out."

Dillan watched her go in silence.

The curtain opened ahead of Andrews, Bones standing on the other side with a severely impressed expression on his face. He didn't even look in Dillan's direction as he led Andrews away, confirming the suspicion that her troubles had only just begun.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Welcome back! This chapter includes more Dillan-won't-take-care of herself nonsense.**

**TW: body horror, and what could be considered self harm (it happens right right at the start, fam: be warned)**

Chapter 17: Forcible Recovery

* * *

"Would you—stop picking at that!" Bones grabbed Dillan's wrist and wrenched it away from her.

She looked up at him, an incredulous expression seething through her one uncovered eye. Flakes of skin graft drifted from her forearm onto the bedsheets.

"_What_?" She spat, shoving him away.

"What?" He laughed. "Excuse me—_what_?!" He pulled his chair right up to her bed. "I said we'd _remove _the rest of your skin grafts in a couple days, and now I come across you peeling them off like an _orange?!_"

Dillan threw her arms up, subconsciously noticing the lack of restraints—two days since those had come off. "That's what I've been trying to explain to you—they come off easy: there's no sense in waiting around all this time."

Before Bones could stop her, she placed her hand over her elbow, pinched the end of a skin graft, and pulled it halfway down her forearm.

Teeth gritted, she said, "See? Totally.. _normal_."

Bones crossed his arms. "So you're telling me that what you're doing doesn't hurt in the _slightest?_"

Dillan groaned. "There's just a few pieces left on this arm, and without being connected to the rest of me—" From the biobed, she gestured up and down her body, "—they serve no purpose. They just look like what they are: blotchy patches of fake skin on my stupid, dumb, arm!" She went to grab another piece.

Bones leapt up and grabbed her arms again. "Alright, that's enough. Can you not see the expression on your face—oh wait, I can, and that's enough, because I'm your goddamn _doctor!"_

He stepped away from her, breathing heavily.

Dillan let her hands rest in the air for a moment before dropping them back in her lap.

Bones swore under his breath. He'd overstepped a boundary—a physical one at that. The thing to do now would be to relive himself from her care—pass it on to someone else.

"You don't have to do everything on your own anymore," Bones muttered. Dillan kept her gaze trained on the end of her bed.

He sighed, then gathered his things—including a noticeable amount of sharp objects—and left her alone.

* * *

Dillan hadn't spoken to Kirk in what felt like months, so it came as a surprise when he walked into medbay.

He walked up to her biobed, not a joke to be found.

Dillan attempted a smile. "Where's Spock?" She'd been expecting him to show up with his rule-orientated attitude.

Crossing his arms, Kirk stopped at the end of her bed. "It isn't his job to reprimand you—as much as he's prepared to."

Dillan resisted the urge to pull at her skin grafts. Kirk's eyes fixated on hers, never straying down to the metal shining through her arm and shoulder.

"I heard you got away with some shit at the Academy," she said.

Smirking, Kirk dipped his chin towards his chest. "The thing is," he said. "I knew when I was in over my head."

A beat passed, then they both burst out laughing.

"I can't believe that for a second!" Dillan said.

Kirk shook his head. "Okay, fine, you're right to think that."

Dillan nodded. "Yep."

She smiled easily, as if completely unfazed by nearly dying just a few days prior. Kirk knew of others who hadn't recovered so quickly. Bones, for instance, after being on-call for two straight weeks following Kahn's crash-landing in San Francisco.

"So…" he said. "I know what it feels like to think you know what you're doing, and to have no one believe in you."

Dillan shook her head, her one uncovered eye rolling in disbelief. "There are just too many rules here. It's like they're trying to work against me getting things done."

Kirk smiled wryly, knowing his two minutes were nearly up. "It can definitely feel like that sometimes… especially when you're supposed to be in charge."

"Hm," Dillan said, completely oblivious to his insinuation.

Kirk clapped his hands together, signalling his intent to leave. When he turned to go, Dillan looked up.

"That's it?" It wasn't as bad as she'd expected.

"For me? Yeah." Kirk glanced out the entrance he'd come through. "But you're not off the hook just yet. There's someone else coming for you," he said. "He specifically asked for permission to yell at you—and it's not who you're thinking of," he added when Dillan shrunk back in fear.

The entrance to the medbay slid open, admitting a very angry, extremely red-faced, chief engineer.

Dillan paled, looking rapidly between the Captain and her direct superior.

Kirk gave her a jaunty wave, smirk plastered all over his face, then stepped aside to let Scotty through.

* * *

Scotty paced back and forth for a full thirty seconds before Dillan blurted out, "Just say something!"

The red died in his face and he collapsed into the chair next to her bed.

Afraid he was about to pass out, Dillan threw her covers back and scooted to the edge of her bed.

Scotty looked up from his hands. His gaze only made it to the start of her right foot before shirking away.

"You're in a lot of trouble, lassie," he said quietly, his voice level, but not entirely calm.

Dillan didn't know if responding with a 'yes, sir' was appropriate, so she stayed silent.

"I… I understand why you would try and pull something like this. But I cannot fathom why you wouldn't come to me first. So, just… why?" He wiped a hand across his tired face. He met her gaze, and suddenly, Dillan couldn't think of an excuse anymore.

"I had an opportunity," she said. "So I took it."

"We were managingthe situation."

Dillan tilted her head back, groaning. "We were _limping_ to the nearest starbase—and none of them are exactly close."

Scotty shook his head at her. "The ship could have taken it. You just need to trust her."

"I trust what I'm capable of, not machines."

He scoffed. "You're part machine."

"That's not the same thing," Dillan said quietly.

Scotty tilted his head up to the ceiling, a silent prayer forming on his lips.

"I made a mistake, alright?" Dillan said. "But no one got hurt, so I don't see what the fuss is all about-"

"-No one?!" Scotty cried. His eyes widened. "That bloody _mistake_ nearly cost you your _life!"_

Dillan crossed her arms. "Fine. No one _else._ If I'd just been a bit more careful—"

Scotty got up, flinging his arms in the air. "Except you _weren't_ careful! You went into a restricted, volatile, low-oxygen area, alone—no note! No backup! -You didn't tell anyone! Who knows how long you could've been left in there!"

"In and out," Dillan muttered, curling back up in her biobed. "No one would have even known."

Scotty pointed at her. "That's not the _point_ and you know it."

Dillan huffed, rolling her eyes.

Scotty's ears turned red. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, missy!"

"So what, _Dad_," Dillan spat, "Are you gonna lock me in my _room_?" Her original accent came through, twisting her words into something harsh and foul.

"If it gets you out of this funk, then I might just do that!" Scotty waved his hand. He took a deep breath, scratching at the hair on the back of his neck.

He sat down again, glancing at Dillan when she shifted away from him.

Something new came over his voice. When he spoke next, Dillan got a strange sense that he'd been in this situation before.

"You don't even understand…" He sighed. A pained look crossed his features, just withheld enough so that Dillan didn't properly notice what it was.

"We don't let people risk themselves like that. Not- not when it can be avoided."

He put his hand over his mouth. Dillan looked away, letting him get a hold of his emotions without her watching.

"I-" she began, but paused when he sniffed loudly. "Alright then. What can I do to help?"

Scotty laughed. "You? Help? Nothing."

Bones re-entered medbay just as Scotty scoffed, "You're suspended for three weeks, lassie, and-" he looked to Bones for confirmation, "I suspect the majority of it will be spent in here."

Bones nodded, eyebrows furrowing closer together.

"Three-" Dillan blurted, prepared to burst out in a series of complaints. She stopped herself before she said something else she'd regret, instead, crossing her arms and sinking further into her bed. "Oh my gosh…"

"Yes," Scotty said, rocking back and forth on his feet. "Gosh, indeed. So, get ready for some serious…" he paused to think, "…Bed… rest…" He gave Bones a 'help me' look.

Bones looked at him, both refusing to make eye contact with Dillan.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "You've got a couple days of burn therapy ahead of you. So, uh, prepare to do… nothing… as punishment." He gave Scotty a defeated look. _Was this really the best they could come up with?_ Technically, she'd been doing her job—though also disobeying a direct order, so…

"Excellent," Scotty said to a still-fuming Dillan.

He stormed out of medbay, leaving Bones to deal with their delusional, hero-complex of a patient.

* * *

The burn therapy was only meant to clean up any spots harmed on her human skin. But as the procedure progressed, the medical staff found cause to do the same with Dillan's skin grafts.

The bits left over would either have to be soldered back on to the metal plating, or be removed entirely.

To Dillan, it came as a surprise to see her metal sides when she woke up. Not, per say, because of the look of it (though she had to admit, being bald would take some getting used to), but rather the fact that they'd gone with her idea.

"Oh, don't be so smug about it," Bones said as he set down her meal tray. He watched her run her left hand along her right arm, then looked away as she reached inside her hospital gown to press it to the cool surface of her chest.

Alright, so maybe some of the surprise was due to the appearance.

Bones was tempted to take a seat and talk her through it as best she could.

Gripping it between her forefinger and her thumb, Dillan slowly twisted her right index finger around 180 degrees. They both stared at it with a mixture of wonder and fear. Bones left her tray there and went to do some reading to decompress what he'd just seen. He was seriously reconsidering whether he was qualified enough for this kind of case.

* * *

"I'm surprised you didn't visit earlier," Dillan said. "My other superiors have already had their words." She set her padd down on her lap and straightened her spine. "What took you so long?"

Spock mirrored her posture, only he was standing, hands placed behind his back. He nodded, speaking in his usual slow, measured tone.

"I thought it best if I took more time to gather my thoughts before speaking with you," he said. "Mr. Scott's assessment, while accurate, lacked a certain… dignity."

Dillan leaned back, a smile making its way across her face. "So what I'm hearing is that you're _not _here to release me from my suspension."

"Your hearing is exemplary, as always."

Dillan snorted. "Just not good enough to keep me from getting myself killed."

Spock tilted his head. "That may have more to do with your affinity for rule-breaking."

_"Bending," _she said. "And last I checked," she lifted her arms from her sides, "I hadn't broken anything, so we're alright on that front." She settled back into her bed, closing her eyes.

Spock raised an eyebrow, then brought his padd in front of him. He flicked upwards across the screen.

The alert sound of a doc arriving in Dillan's inbox came from the padd on her lap. She picked it up and held it above her head.

"The damage report says otherwise," Spock said as she scanned the document.

She bit her lip, a sure sign that she'd reached the total at the bottom.

"The new damages require us to return for repairs at an expedited rate," Spock said. "We will arrive at Somerdale within the month, but that has not stopped the Federation from assigning us an additional stop on our way back."

"Oh?" Dillan crossed her arms, still eyeing the amount at the bottom of the page. "Do tell?"

"We are making a short detour to a planetoid named Quintus," Spock explained. "An automatic supply vessel crashed there; we will retrieve what we can from it and move on to Somerdale."

"Why'd it crash?" Dillan asked. Some malfunction in the autopilot was what she immediately suspected. A lapse in activity just long enough for it to be pulled in by the planetoid's gravitational field.

"That is unknown as of now," Spock said.

"Is the planetoid inhabited?"

"No. It's barely capable of sustaining human life." Even while she was bed ridden, Spock could see how she tensed ay the prospect of a mission.

"And what supplies is so important that they feel compelled to send their best to retrieve it—despite the getaway vehicle being in need of repairs?" A self-gratifying look crossed Dillan's face. It didn't suit her.

"It was meant for a nearby colony," Spock said. "But they already have a replacement on the way. Luckily, we can use most of what's there to help sustain us until we reach Somerdale."

Dillan looked away. Of course: everything came back to her mistake.

"You will still be suspended by the time we reach Quintus," he said. The corner of his mouth quirked up when her posture deflated.

"I was only asking…" she said. They both knew she hadn't.

She glanced back down at the padd, wincing ad the frustratingly-long string of numbers at the bottom of the screen.

Dillan swallowed the lump growing in her throat. "Do I- Do I have to pay all _that?_"

Spock waited until the looked up, her eyes shrinking in fear.

"No," he said finally. "The Federation deals with its own damage costs—even in cases like this."

Dillan exhaled a sigh of relief, tossing her padd to the end of her bed. "What was all that for then?"

"I was appealing to your more practical nature," he said. "As a lack of regard for our own lives in the light of helping others seems to be a trait we share."

Dillan blinked. "Was that meant to be a compliment, or…?"

"There are people aboard this ship who care deeply for you," Spock said. "In the future, I suggest making a greater effort to preserve your own life—at least for their sakes."

Spock looked behind him at the sound of footsteps. They predated their owner's arrival by several seconds, but he already knew who they belonged to. After all, he'd asked him to come here himself.

Dillan shrank back, face going red as Pavel ran into medbay. She pulled her blankets up to her chin, wishing she could bring them over her face as well. But then she wouldn't be able to see him—him, flustered and out of breath from running over here. Him, hardly recognizing Spock as he ran past him to her bedside, taking her human hand in his and interlocking their fingers and whispering, promising a dozen things she didn't have the lucidity to comprehend.

* * *

Pavel didn't let go of Dillan's hand until Bones ordered him to step aside so he could take a blood sample.

While Dillan looked away as the hypo slid under her skin, he took a moment to see her as she truly was.

The right side of her body was made of metal, he could see that clearly now.

The fake skin had been scorched off, leaving nothing but the silver and red metallic sheen behind.

Where Dillan's right cheekbone was—if there even was one there anymore—the skin gave way to a chasm about one centimetre deep. This line ran from the back of her head, up and around to her face, and down to her chin and neck, disappearing at her collarbone underneath her hospital gown.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't freak him out a little.

"There we are," Bones said, retracting the hypo from her arm. "You can breathe now."

Dillan exhaled loudly. "If you weren't a doctor I'd think you were draining me dry." She looked up, caught Pavel staring, and grimaced.

Once Bones stepped back, Pavel returned to Dillan's bedside. She took his hand in hers, and they both looked to Bones.

"Aah, shit," he said. "Not this again."

"I'll be fine," Dillan said, nodding her head in Pavel's direction. "Do you think there's anyone else willing to take better care of me? No offence, Doctor…"

Bones put the hypo into a sterile transport container, then crossed his arms. "I know you want out, but we aren't discharging you yet."

"I'll stay in our room!" Dillan exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. Pavel leaned back, a blush spreading across his face. _Our room?_

"It's basically the same as where I am now," she continued. "Either I'm stuck in bed here—or I'm stuck in bed there—and don't bring up the bio-monitoring argument again." She pointed to Pavel."

"Uh, yes, I transferred the OS of her bed to, um, ours back at the room," he said quietly. _Ours?_ He liked the sound of that.

Bones put a hand over his eyes. "Of course. The two whiz kids end up together…"

"Bones-" Dillan started.

"And we haven't even discussed the skin graft replacements you'll need," he said. "If you move this'll turn into a logistical nightmare—it's completely impractical."

"Bones," Dillan said.

"-Not to mention your suspension and future surgeries, which means we'll have to open up a whole new sector of—"

"Bones!" Dillan shouted. Pavel jumped back.

She immediately regretted raising her voice. Dillan doubled over in bed, coughing, holding one finger up to tell him she wasn't finished.

Once she could breathe again, Dillan let out a rattling exhale.

"I'm not getting new skin grafts," she said slowly. "I don't want them."

"What?" Pavel said, at the same time Bones said "Why?"

Dillan shook her head. She patted Pavel's arm. "It's alright, there's nothing you can do. You're human, so what had to be done to replace my old skin in the first place is likely far beyond anything your machines are capable of here."

"How flattering," Bones said. "You almost turned into Spock for a minute there."

"There must be a way," Pavel said. "You don't want to spend the rest of your-" He stopped when Dillan's face fell, realizing his misstep.

Bones winced as she took her hand out of his grasp.

"I- I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant," she said. "I can't imagine what it must be like to see me like this, but believe me, _this?" _She gestured to the metal parts of her face, "Was a drastic improvement over what was left of me at the time. The skin grafts you have for me won't be the same," she said quietly. She swallowed, blinking back a memory that had taken years to even partially suppress.

"Why?" Bones asked.

"They were made specifically for my body," Dillan said. "In, uh, heh, ways that you would deem… very unethical. I can still feel with the metal. It just becomes a little muted."

She looked to Bones. "I don't want it. You can retire whatever hair-brained plot you had for concocting half a body's-worth of skin cells to the bin." She thought back to how Beast had created her own skin grafts. From _whom_ the stem cells had been taken.

_Foolish sunflower, _her mother said. Dillan looked to the bed across from her, but she'd already disappeared.

"If that's your decision…" Bones' voice trailed off as he and Pavel looked to the empty bed where she stared. "We can't force you to do it if not doing it won't kill you, but if you change your mind, I won't have you running back in here. Stuff like that… it takes time."

Dillan nodded. "I know." She let Pavel retake her hand. "Thank you, Bones."

* * *

The next day she was conditionally discharged from mandatory medical care, but Bones had her put to three more days of bed rest to let the shock sub side, and for the burns on her human side to finish healing.

He may as well have kept that going for the rest of her suspension. She wasn't authorized to work on the ship for another two weeks.

Pavel walked with her from medbay to their apartment. He talked extra loud any time the whispers surfaced. People couldn't get enough of Dillan's new look, even with them only seeing her hand and face.

Dillan rejected Bones proposal for a number of reasons. For most, she'd be able to manage with just her metal. Even after one day, she told herself that it was already getting easier to life with the dulled sense of touch on one side of her body. Anything Bones could have tried wouldn't have compared to what Beast had done for her.

Pavel brought her food and clean clothes, helping her when she let him, and backing off when she needed him to.

She wanted to repay him in some way, but found that after the walk from medbay to her (their?) room, she barely had the strength to stand.

When she asked him to stay the night, he seemed pleased.

"Are you warm enough?" He asked as she settled underneath the blankets. Dillan nodded. He'd already turned up the thermostat by several degrees.

She wasn't shivering, but as he settled in on her left, human side, Pavel had to bite back a gasp. Her metal, currently lacking in motion—and therefore heat—had turned the space beneath the sheets into an icebox.

Dillan felt him tense up. While she remained motionless, she would stay cold and dull.

Even when he switched to lie next to her metal side, she didn't have the heart to tell him she barely felt anything there.

* * *

I wanted to say a special thank you to readers **MidnightPixie25** and **LizRT34, ** both new favourites (and in MidnightPixie25's case, a follower!) of the story. It means a lot that people actually want to get updated when a new chapter gets released, so thank you!


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Not gonna lie, I am SO excited for this chapter. We finally (really) meet a new character! He's been in a few others, but this is the first time he's really taken centre stage. Thank you for reading :D**

Chapter 18: Ulterior Perspectives

* * *

Bennet hissed as his feet touched the cool tiles of the bathroom floor.

"Computer," he said, hopping onto the mat nearest to the shower, "Turn on the floor heating, please."

The sensor in the far corner of the room beeped to signal that it had received his command.

Bennet had the lights dialled up to no more than thirty percent before he stepped into the shower. He knew that by the time he was finished, the floor would have gone from tundra, to rainforest.

As he was finishing up, Harrev entered the bathroom and turned the lights on all the way.

Bennet started, bumping against the side of the shower stall, effectively turning off the water.

"Delaying the inevitable does little for your future," Harrev said, handing Bennet a towel and turning away as he stepped out. "It's better to get your eyes adjusted now so you're not squinting at your screen for the entire morning."

"My boyfriend, the pragmatist," Bennet chuckled, and went to go get changed.

* * *

In order to accommodate their extra twenty minutes of sleep, they skipped on breakfast and went straight to brushing their teeth. Bennet took his first coffee about an hour into his shift, while Harrev didn't drink much besides water.

Harrev brushed his teeth, eyes flashing to Bennet every few seconds as he shaved off the light beard he'd let grow in over the past month. For ground missions, Spock requested that his accompanying officers be clean shaven (so as to reduce the likelihood of any hair-induced miscommunication.)

Harrev deposited his toothbrush into a holder on the side of the sink. After gargling and spitting out the remaining water, he looked at Bennet's reflection, and said, "I will miss your scruff."

Bennet laughed, then turned to face the real Harrev. "If only I could grow more than scruff."

They straightened each other's uniforms, checking for any inconsistencies. Then Harrev kissed Bennet, lingering for as long as he could before he had to leave on his slightly earlier shift.

* * *

As Commander Spock's aide-de-campe, Bennet directed all of his direct orders to the lower-ranking officers. And, as his assistant, he was also in charge of distributing a number of _in_direct orders. Spock's daily schedule was in an ever-changing state of flux, and he had to be prepared to handle that.

Since they'd trained in combat together, Spock rarely went on a mission without Bennet.

"So, where did the transport crash?" Bennet asked. He stood on one side of the holomap, Spock on the other.

"Here." Spock pointed to a shape Bennet assumed was meant to be some sort of rock formation.

"Behind it?"

"From where we are landing, yes," Spock said.

Before becoming joined to Spock's hip, Bennet would have said something like, "So where_ on the map_ did the transport crash?" In the years since then, his speech had become more direct, and less conversational.

When he'd met Harrev, his bubbliness should have increased, but Bennet's need to help break him out of his shell had had the opposite effect on himself at the same time.

Spock pulled up the mission file on his padd. He scrolled through the crew assembly list. He stopped on their assigned shuttle pilot.

"You have not reassigned someone to replace Mr. Sulu," he said.

Bennet winced. "I thought we were waiting for the results back on his psych eval." Even as he said it, he knew exactly what Spock's response would be.

Still too shaken up from the shuttle explosion last month, Sulu wasn't cleared for field duty.

Spock looked at him. "The mission itinerary matures in an hour."

Bennet nodded. "I'll get right on that, sir."

Itineraries, supply lists, short-frequency communications and schedules ruled Bennet's work day, and yet, because he'd majored in physics, he wore a blue shirt.

* * *

When he wasn't with Sam, Harrev was back on Orion. When he walked down one of the Enterprise's corridors, he found himself in one of the underground tunnels. The gym became the fighting pits, and on the extremely rare occasion he was summoned to the bridge, he was back in the slave centre, being forced to witness and participate in all sorts of atrocities.

His way out of this waking nightmare was a nearly-synchronized schedule with Sam, free time with Sam, nights out with Sam, and nights in with Sam.

He didn't have another way he was willing to deal with his memories. If he told Sam—or anyone else—he feared that he'd be discharged in an instant.

So he stayed quiet, holding onto his boyfriend for fear of ever having to let go.

His morning had finished with very little excitement, letting him leave early to take the short route to lunch—with Sam, of course.

He ducked into the sonar lab, those huge silver discs lining each of the walls, and made his way through a sea of red uniforms just like his own.

He glimpsed Uhura at one of the stations, talking to one of her subordinates with swooping animated gestures. He heard her say something about an unknown frequency coming from the planet they were orbiting, and then she saw him.

For a moment, they made eye contact, both resting with the fact that the men they loved were going down there in less than a day's time. Uhura nodded to him, and Harrev moved past her line of sight on towards the lift.

* * *

"Did you see Andrews anytime during your morning?" Bennet asked. He shovelled potatoes into his mouth; Harrev pushed his own around his plate.

"Who?" Harrev said. He looked up at Sam, trying to memorize the details in his face. He felt the need to draw another portrait of him soon.

"You know," Bennet drawled, "Our resident expecting mother? I need to talk to her partner." He sighed. "Sulu's not cleared to be back yet, and Venter's the only one who'd been shadowing him enough to fly us down tomorrow."

Harrev set his fork down. "Has he ever flown on a field mission?" he asked. He wouldn't be eating today or tomorrow. Not until Sam was back safely.

"It's simple enough for a first-timer," Bennet said. He shook his head when Harrev looked away. Putting his hand over his, he said, "You worry too much."

"Mm_hmm_? Harrev recalled what he'd heard in the sonar lab. "Would he know much about unknown frequencies?"

Bennet smirked. "I don't know how he could, seeing as they're _unknown_."

Harrev shook his head. "Don't do that. Not now."

Bennet finished chewing a replicated broccoli stem and swallowed, sensing there was more to Harrev's feelings right then. He held out his hand.

"What's wrong?"

Harrev looked into his eyes. "I overheard Uhura talking about some frequency she picked up from the planet."

Bennet nodded, automatically making a note of it to mention to Spock later on.

"What else did she say about it?" he asked.

Harrev went silent for a moment. "I did not hear much else. She only noted that it was unlike anything she'd ever received from a Starfleet-issue ship."

A woman sitting a few tables away from them looked up.

Bennet raised an eyebrow. "So she thinks it's coming from something other than what we're headed towards?"

The woman, dressed in off-duty wares and sporting a wool cap to cover her mostly-bald head, touched the pressure sensor behind her right ear in order to hear them more clearly.

Neither of them noticed her, not even when she got up to leave as their conversation moved on to less pressing issues.

* * *

Harrev spent the second half of his day outside Bay Six. Stuck guarding what was essentially an air lock at this point, he forced himself into a state of neutral, non-reaction at his fellow guards' jibes and jabs.

_"I don't even understand why he's got a position here anymore."_

_ "Him and that girl. We should toss 'em both off at Somerdale."_

_ "Literally all he had to do was not let anyone go inside… And what does he do?"_

_ "Let's her inside!"_

_ "Crippled the ship…_

_ "…Should be on desk duty…"_

Harrev shut them out as best he could. But whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was Orion.

He opened them and heard something else—a woman he didn't know calling for help. A woman he did know collapsed on the floor. How he hadn't read the situation more clearly, he had no idea.

He'd carried one to med bay, leaving the other to screw up his post beyond any repair. Now, they were sending a few of their crew down to a long-abandoned crash site in a desperate attempt to retrieve the extra supplies they needed. Or so the rumours went.

_"…should be dismissed…"_

Could he even call them his crew members at this point?

If getting away from them right this second meant working at a desk for the next year, Harrev would take it in an instant.

* * *

Bennet found Venter walking with Andrews outside one of the gyms. Before they noticed him, there was a moment where it was just the two of them. Andrews, with one hand on her stomach, the other interlocked with Venter's. Venter looking at her in the most benign of ways, completely unaware of what Bennet was about to ask of him.

Andrews saw him first. Her gaze narrowed, then relaxed once she dissected the expression on his face. He didn't enjoy this anymore than she did.

Venter looked up as Andrews' pace slowed, then stopped completely. She turned her knowing look from Bennet to him.

"Go," she said. "I'll head back to the room."

Venter opened his mouth to protest, but she was already walking away from him.

As she passed Bennet, Andrews' eyes met his. He looked away, solidifying her suspicions.

A year ago, Andrews had been little more than a clumsy engineering recruit. But after pushing past her initial nervousness, she'd grown to become a fierce supervisor among the repairs force.

She'd spent the last month setting up schedules and checklists for her subordinates during her and Venter's extended shore leave. She planned on returning in full force once she'd healed and they'd adjusted to their new addition.

Without realizing it, Venter leaned back, apprehensive as to why Bennet was here. He knew there was a mission planned for the next day.

Bennet closed his eyes. Venter glanced past him at Andrews, walking away from them. She looked back once, at Bennet rather than him.

"You already have a guess for why I'm here," Bennet said.

"I have my suspicions," Venter confirmed. He looked down at his feet. "How's Sulu holding up?"

Bennet shook his head. "Not well. He failed the psych eval for field duty yesterday."

"Leaving everything to the last minute?" Venter said. He folded his arms over his chest. "That's not how Spock usually operates."

"None of this is," Bennet laughed, sounding a bit manic. "One of our docking bays is crippled, people are afraid their air's about to turn toxic, and we had four days to plan a crucial supply retrieval from a planet we've never been to."

He didn't mention the transmissions. He'd have to go to Uhura to confirm them by this evening—if he wasn't still looking for a replacement pilot by then.

Venter had heard the Captain's announcements—how crucial it was they got this supplies. New tubes and cannisters that would hopefully last them until Somerdale.

At this point, everyone was walking on eggshells, just waiting for the next thing to go wrong. He didn't want to be a part of it, but got the feeling that Bennet wasn't above ordering him.

"You know I wouldn't be here if there was another option," Bennet said.

Venter shook his head. "There _are _others."

"Another _viable_ option," Bennet insisted.

Venter nodded. While he would never even consider the thought of taking over his position on this ship, he had enjoyed shadowing Sulu. But then…

"You're also aware that the baby is less than four weeks away," Venter said. "Me and Ellie, we promised each other we'd stay out of intense shit like this."

Venter already knew how the rest of this would turn out.

"I know you don't want to do this," Bennet pleaded, "But there's no one else-"

"You promise it's just an in-out supply pick up? No secret mission hidden among the chain of command for some colony-in-need you're not telling me about?"

Bennet shook his head rapidly. "Nope, nothing like that."

Venter put his palms to his forehead and spun around to face the opposite direction. "Ffffff—ine. Fine. Fine!" He threw his hands down and turned back to Bennet. "I'm sure Ellie's already figured it out, so I won't make you break the news to her. What time do I need to be in prep?"

Bennet could have hugged him—for both agreeing to the mission and for breaking the news to Andrews. Instead, he nodded curtly and said, "0800."

"Alright then." Venter grimaced, going over the million scenarios that would play out that evening.

He gave Bennet one final, dejected look, then walked past him in the same direction Andrews had gone.

A few seconds passed before he heard Bennet call over his shoulder, "Thank you for not making me pull rank!"

* * *

That evening, Bennet got in to their apartment and knew the night was going to end on a sour (if not bad) note.

"Did you already eat?" Bennet called, knowing Harrev was in here _somewhere._

He smelled burnt plastic from the replicator, a sure sign that Harrev had attempted to make an elaborate dinner, failed early in the process, and given up to retire to the couch.

He went to the couch and found him laying down, methodically scrolling through files on his padd.

"No," he said upon registering Bennet's presence. "I waited for you."

Bennet smiled. "Okay, what would you like?"

"It doesn't matter," Harrev said, shrugging. "You choose."

After clearing it out, Bennet set the replicator to make a lasagna in five minutes, then returned to the couch. Harrev had sat up in the minute of his absence, making room for him on one end.

Bennet looked down at Harrev's feet, his toes curled up inside woolen socks. Each tap Harrev made on his padd had a sense of purpose behind it; he didn't waste his—or anyone else's—time.

In the silence, Bennet recalled the first time he saw him. It hadn't been a meeting. Just a brief glance, which turned into a full-on stare across the courtyard at the most attractive man he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Is there anything I need to know?" Bennet asked. He was fine with Harrev bringing work home, it just wasn't what he normally did.

Harrev looked up, balancing his padd on one knee.

"I love you," he said.

Not missing a beat, Bennet took his hand. "I love you too."

Harrev held his gaze for one, two, three beats, then nodded.

Bennet got up to check on their food. _There,_ he thought, _Disaster averted._

Five steps away was as long as Harrev could hold it in.

"Then why are you going down there tomorrow?"

Bennet closed his eyes. _Every time._

Turning around, he said, "Because these mission are a part of my job."

Harrev moved his padd to the coffee table, where it would be safe. "You could ask to be reassigned. It's been done before."

Bennet smiled wanly. "In what world does that work out?" He couldn't just _ask _to leave his post. They'd promoted him in full confidence that he'd serve out his entire contract.

"One where you and I can stay here together." Harrev's voice shook. "_Safe_."

Bennet took a step towards the couch. He couldn't help the uptick in his volume. "If I'm not the one doing this, then someone else—someone with _much_ less experience in the field—will be, and I'm not about to let them take on that much responsibility without a week's notice!"

"That's how _you_ began!"

Bennet shook his head. "Harrev… we do this every time. You know I'm going down to that planet tomorrow morning, no matter the outcome of this fight, and once we've retrieved the supplies I'll come back and we can be on our way."

"I worry about you," Harrev said.

Bennet wanted so much to just collapse into his arms and tell him everything was going to be alright. But he had a feeling that wouldn't be as effective for a third time.

Instead, he sat back down on the opposite end of the couch.

"I know you do," he said. "I worry about you too."

Avoiding his haze, Harrev cleared the work files on his padd into a neat folder. "Hmph. You're the one with the dangerous job."

Bennet laughed—or at least he tried to. "That's not entirely true."

His gaze strayed up to Harrev's hairline, imagining the streak dark bruises that had once covered his green skin. A remnant of him breaking up a fight between two unruly crew members.

The replicator dinged. Bennet didn't get up to retrieve their dinner. He felt that moving in any way might disrupt the stalemate they'd reached.

Instead, Harrev stood up, shooting Bennet a minute side-eye glance. In two sentences, he broke down all the good will they'd built up in preparation for that evening.

"You can eat," he said. "I'm going to bed."

Bennet sat there for a minute, wondering where he'd gone wrong. After coming to a biased, lacklustre conclusion, he ate a slice of lasagna alone, then went back to the couch for seven hours of cold, restless sleep.

* * *

The crew seemed to tip toe around the shuttle as they prepared it for launch—despite the fact that there wasn't a chance in hell that another explosive device had gone unnoticed for over a month.

Bennet found Venter in the cockpit, going over the mission plan.

"You know," he said, gesturing to the blinking lights along the control panel, "If you set the warm-up sequence, _then_ go over your duties, things tend to go more quickly."

Venter stood up, nearly knocking over his cup of coffee in the process. "Yes, sir!"

Bennet raised an eyebrow. Venter shook his head and got to work on the console.

The swift patter of feet up the gangplank signalled the entrance of the cursed trio's youngest member. Ensign Idell leapt into the shuttle, lugging a bulky medipack over one shoulder.

"Sir," she said to Bennet, and tucked the pack into a storage container along one of the shuttle's walls.

She blinked when she noticed Venter. "Also… _sir_," she said humorously, tucking a hat over her coiled black hair. "Didn't know you were going to be here today," she muttered.

He jabbed her shoulder with two fingers. "Oh, try and contain your excitement."

Idell rolled her eyes, beginning her half of the warm-up routine. She had her job preference (medicine) but as an Ensign, she usually took on multiple duties. (In this case, that of co-pilot.)

Venter turned in his charm to face Bennet—his direct CO for today and Idell's for the past eight months—and asked, "So, why aren't you beaming down there today?"

Idell glanced over her shoulder to make eye contact with Bennet, who nodded.

"The supply drop is located inside a crater," she said, pulling up a map of the area on the shuttle's main display. She pointed out the area to Venter. "Right _here._" Where she touched it, a red dot appeared. "But because of the material coating the planet's surface… something-something-it-scrambles-our-systems?" She looked to Bennet for confirmation. He nodded, urging her on.

"Basically, our techs aren't confident they'll be able to safely transport us back up."

Venter raised an eyebrow. "And the shuttle is safer, _why_?"

Idell cocked her head. "It's old tech, outdated, really, so we shouldn't expect the same kind of interference."

Venter scoffed, swivelling back around in his pilot's chair to continue the warm-up sequence. "Well, _great._ That's 100 percent reassuring."

As he said it, Idell and Bennet looked to the back of the shuttle.

Spock, First Officer and mission leader, ducked under the threshold of the gangplank. He surveyed his aide, the ensign, and their replacement pilot: two of them had been present for his embarrassment on Sezium. The "Cursed Trio" some said behind closed doors.

Both looked determined to reject that moniker by the end of today.

* * *

"…Entering the first layer of the atmosphere…" Venter announced.

The shuttle creaked. Bennet gripped his seatbelt, making eye contact with Spock.

"Shields stabillized," Idell said as they were buffeted about by the second layer.

Aside from a brief grimace, Bennet didn't see it get to her.

She _knew _this shuttle. Its control panel. Its quirks. Clearly, she'd been studying up.

Bennet heard a sharp beeping from Venter's side of the cockpit. By the time he glanced over there, Idell had pointed out the red area on the map and adjusted their course.

Spock only addressed Bennet in the last minute before they touched down.

"I am unaware of the condition of the palettes. Or the supplies inside them."

He and Bennet glanced around them at the cramped interior of the shuttle.

"Maybe we should have brought a bigger shuttle," Bennet said.

Idell glanced over her shoulder. "There's a compact hover-lift underneath the floor," she said. "Once we've found the exact location, Venter, you can bring it over. From what the maps and scans have told us, the crater's sides are too narrow and the base is too uneven to land inside properly."

Venter set their stabilizers to max as they pressed on through the atmosphere. "Are you really allowed to order me around like that? You know, I outrank you—here _and_ back home."

Idell rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."

Bennet smirked. _Siblings._

"And besides," Venter continued, raising his voice over the sound of the thrusters. "Should I really leave the shuttle unattended?"

"There have been no signs of intelligent life on our scans," Spock said.

Venter eyed the phaser on both of their belts. Idell took over steering capabilities for the moment.

"These are just a precaution," Bennet called, closing his eyes as they hit another bought of turbulence.

"Right…" Venter returned to steering the shuttle.

The shaking reached its peak as they made their final descent. The wind outside screeched so loud Bennet regretted not putting in his earplugs.

He felt a slight lurch, jerking in his seat as Venter made his first in-field landing.

As the shuttle powered down, Venter leaned back in the pilot's chair, hands hovering above the control panel, mouth agape.

Idell raised a closed fist, which Venter promptly bumped with his own.

After testing the planet's outside air, Idell and Bennet left the shuttle to check over each other's system monitors while Spock gave Venter the lookout spiel.

"You have a link to stream our vitals right _here._" He pointed to a section of the shuttle's control panel. "You can also access readings from the planet's surface _here._"

A different section: instead of three blinking outlines, this one had a topographical map of the crater and its surroundings.''

"The Enterprise, of course, shares this connection. You can assume they are listening to every word you say."

Venter looked around them, as if just coming to terms with that fact.

"So I just stay here and… keep my eyes open for anything weird?" he asked.

"With 'anything' being the operative word," Spock said, "As any species we would encounter here would be outside the realm of expectations, and therefore, as you put it: _weird_."

Venter looked at Idell, then back to Spock. "Right. Um, yes, sir."

Spock gave him one last not-at-all-certain appraisal, then left to join the rest of his team.

* * *

"You need a hand with that?" Bennet asked.

Idell looked over her shoulder as she descended the last few steps of the gangplank, pulling the hover-lift along with her.

"I'll be fine." She grunted, dropping to her knees as the hover lift adjusted to Quintus' gravity. She checked its readings, jumping back up to her feet once she was satisfied. "The atmosphere's not quite what it's used to, but it should hold." She sighed. "At least we don't have to wear suits this time around."

"What, like on Sezium?" Bennet meant it as a joke, but as he said it, realized the alternate drift she might catch. It wasn't even that funny.

"Sorry," he muttered as Idell self-consciously rubbed the spot on her forehead. After so many months, the scar was just barely visible. "I shouldn't have…"

He cursed himself for not being better with words. He was supposed to be an assistant—a means of communication within the beaurocratic structure.

"-Reminded me of my greatest embarrassment as an ensign?" Idell grimaced, shaking it off as best she could.

Spock appeared at the top of the gangplank, and they both went silent.

"Sir." Idell noted as he joined them on the planet's grey, rocky surface.

They'd landed the shuttle a few dozen metres from the crater's edge. The three of them walked in a row: Spock leading, Idell and the hover-lift secured in the middle, with Bennet bringing up the rear.

They encountered their first problem upon reaching the edge of the crater.

Slanted and uneven, the incline made it impossible for the hover lift to go down. Idell attempted to pull it over the initial bump, but it let out a piercing shriek and threatened to shut down.

Idell swore under her breath, trying every system adjustment she could think of to just. Make. It. Work.

"Sorry, sir." She stood up, wanting to give it a swift kick in the side against all of her better judgements. "It won't budge. We'll have to carry it down ourselves."

Spock thought to himself for a moment. "Have you disabled the incline-aide?"

"That's the first thing I tried, sir." Idell shook her head. _Failure._

"Uh, Commander Spock?" Venter chimed in over their local comms. "I may have something up here that could help with that."

Spock holstered his phaser and flipped open his communicator. "Proceed, officer."

Idell closed her eyes as static clouded the other side. If he somehow managed to save this, she'd never live it down.

"I have a bunch of cable here in one of the floor compartments," Venter said. "Sturdy stuff, from the look of it." He paused, and they heard a rattle come from inside the speakers. No doubt, the sound of his communicator being placed on the ground. A heavy creak as he attempted to shift one of the floor boards.

"If we were to tie some to the ship, and the loose ends to the pallets…" he trailed off, waiting for Spock to get the gist of it.

Bennet cocked his head. "It's unorthodox," he said, recalling the time when his brother had used a similar method to pull a shopping cart out of a mud puddle back home.

"Agreed," Spock said, "But I do not believe we have the time to search for another option." He glanced over Bennet's shoulder to the young ensign, who was still trying to get the hover-lift to work despite having heard every word.

Bennet turned to Idell. "Go help Venter with those cables. Bring the shuttle as close to the edge as you can manage." He glanced back at Spock, who stood on the edge of the crater, waiting patiently for him.

Idell nodded, turned to run, but then faltered.

"What about the buddy system?" She said. A group of 3 was essential, lest they needed someone to get help.

Bennet frowned. "We'll watch each other's sixes. Make sure you do the same."

* * *

While Idell sprinted back to the shuttle, Spock and Bennet made their way down into the crater.

"Well, glad we got to break in the new hover-lift," Bennet said sarcastically. He shot a regretful glare back at the oversized paperweight now keeping watch at the crater's edge above them. "Who knows, we might have needed to invent some kind of crapshoot system if it had broken down."

Spock clicked his tongue. "Complaining will not make the hover-lift functional, Lieutenant."

Bennet sighed. "Don't I know it…"

It took them a couple minutes to reach the bottom. The ground here was so uneven that Bennet doubted the lift would have worked even if they'd managed to drag it down the slope.

The palettes were easily identifiable by the Starfleet logo—as well as the haphazard way they were stacked.

Palettes one and two still remained together, while three through five were strewn about in a domino-esque line that lead to the huge rock formation on the opposite edge of the crater.

"Strange," Spock said. "Protocol clearly states that supplies must be stored in the most consolidated manner possible." He went over to one and two, pronouncing them intact after his scanner gave off a little beep.

Bennet watched him for another moment, then, as if drawn forward, he made his way toward the other palettes, and, by proxy, the boulder.

Each of them was dented in some way or another. Bennet followed the pattern in which they'd been scattered, drawing his phaser once he realized that they could only have been displaced in this manner by being knocked from the stack.

Knocked out by a considerable projectile, he thought, staring up at what he knew now was decidedly _not_ a boulder.

The overlapping material looked like metal, but it had been sanded to the point where you could barely tell. A thick layer of dirt and dust covered the surface. Bennet touched it, and his hand came away covered in grey.

The object—whatever it really was—stretched up to nearly twice Bennet's height. It dwarfed him. He shivered, despite being directly beneath the planet's sun.

"Spock!" He called, unknowingly activating something within the object's intricate, but long-dormant, sensory array. The Commander paused his scanning to look up at Bennet.

"This wasn't on the itinerary, was it?"

* * *

_Five Minutes Earlier._

While her two superiors made their way inside the crater, Idell sprinted back to the shuttle. If she looked up at the sky, she could find a single, blinking light that betrayed the Enterprise's presence. Otherwise, they were alone.

After leaping up the gangplank, startling Venter in the process, she hunched over, hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.

"Okay, she said between gasps. "How are we gonna do this?"

She and Venter heaved one of the floor panels far enough out of place so that they could could get inside and transfer the cables out from underneath.

"It looks like there's a couple hundred feet down here," Venter said. From inside the compartment, he pointed past Idell in the direction of the gangplank. "If we separate this into two, we can tie the ends around the braces—"

"And drag the pallets up manually," Idell finished.

Venter nodded. "Exactly."

Idell turned and stared intently at the braces holding the rest of the shuttle above the gangplank. She looked back at Venter. "Why don't we just loop it through?"

He stared at the cable, which was over two inches in diameter, then at the braces. He nodded. "Even better."

They got a couple feet of the cable out of the floor compartment. Venter looped the first free end around a brace, then handed it off to Idell.

With both of them preoccupied, that left no on to observe the vitals feed on the control panel.

She grinned, recalling a game they'd played as children back on Earth. It involved placing your forehead against a baseball bat and seeing who could spin for the longest. Usually, headaches ensued.

"Thread some more through," she said. "I'm going to get as much as I can."

She held the free end in one hand, then slowly rotated it around her torso. She looped the cable twice before stopping.

Idell walked backward, away from the ship, pulling the cable along with her.

"You can go now!" She called once there was enough space between her and the shuttle.

Venter nodded, and pelted back up to the pilot's chair. He tested the engines, looking over one shoulder. Idell braced herself.

Venter moved the shuttle at a snail's pace. Just enough to make a difference, while not too much that it would pull Idell off her feet.

"Yes!" He cried, once the cable started to billow out from the floor compartment, with Idell acting as an anchor. They'd reach the other end in no time.

He reached the edge of the crater, turning the shuttle on a dime. One hundred metres away, Idell adjusted her end of the cable and ran in an arc to where he'd stopped.

She'd expected Venter to have threaded the other end through by the time she arrived, but he hadn't even left the pilot's seat.

She could barely make out a word because of the stitch in her side.

"What's…" she inhaled deeply. "-What's wrong?"

Venter looked at her and she was finally able to see the expression on his face.

He pointed a shaking hand to the thermal vision screen.

Her eyes widened as she distinguished Spock and Bennet's tiny heat signatures from the massive red and yellow form. Its temperature seemed to grow with each passing second-as if it were waking up.

* * *

"That was not." Spock said. When Bennet looked at him, he could swore he almost saw confusion in his eyes. Which was frightening, because Spock never got stumped.

Bennet attempted to pull the nearest pallet away from the structure, but Spock waved him off.

"Leave it."

"But we should-"

"_Leave it,_ lieutenant."

Bennet backed off.

Spock unholstered his phaser, with Bennet following suit. Spock's communicator beeped. He flipped it open, eyes flicking from the caller ID to the egg-shaped monolith before them.

"What the hell is down there with you guys?" Venter said, his voice crackling and spitting through the connection. "I've got a giant heat signature on my screen, and it doesn't seem to be going away any time soon!"

"That remains to be seen…" Spock murmured.

For all but a second, his gaze went from being focused on the monolith, to searching for the heat scanner function on his communicator.

Just a few feet behind him, Bennet saw a segment of the monolith punch out from the outer shell.

"Look out!" Bennet cried, jumping in front of Spock. Before he could even think to fire, a number of other segments followed suit. The egg unfolded with a mechanical clicking sound, revealing the creature inside in a matter of seconds.

Bennet fired once, barely getting a chance to look at the pincer swinging towards him. He fired again, then blinked, as his hand was missing. Another blink, then his forearm too.

The pincer snaked around his ribcage and hurled him back across the crater. In the moments before his release from the egg's grasp, he felt a sharp prick in the back of his neck.

Then Bennet was gone.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Welcome back to the story! We pick up right where we last left off, so jump right into it! (bonus points if you get that reference ;D)**

Chapter 19: Flawed Protocol

* * *

The altercation lasted a matter of seconds.

Spock scrambled to Bennet's side, shouting into his communicator for help.

He knelt next to his aide, and looked back at the monster, fully expecting it to obliterate the both of them.

Like a giant parasite, spindly legs supported its reflective, globular centre as the beast scuttled towards him.

Then, he saw a series of cracks feather out from its glass-like centre, followed by the _pew_ sound of a plasma-charged bullet flying through the air.

Idell cocked the rifle, reloading it from her position on the crater's edge.

The creature—whatever it really was—stumbled forward one more step. A green substance oozed through the cracks, trickling to the ground with an acidic sizzle.

The creature's legs gave out and it fell back to the ground, just a few metres from where it had risen.

The crater seemed to expel a huge breath of relief. Spock turned his attention from it to Bennet, realizing how little time had passed for so much to go wrong.

* * *

_You'll hate me for this, but I promise we will be together again some day._

The last vision Four of Twelve had of their mother was of her eyes. A touch of uncertainty, quickly replaced by reassurance and pride, just in time for the world to go black.

The next time they had functioning optical receptors, all they saw were white pinpricks of light. Stars, they soon realized. They were in space.

_Beep._

Four of Twelve felt… bulky.

Before this mission, they'd had arms and legs, and a pair of proper eyes. Now they saw through an optical array and used their engine for movement.

If they remembered what it was like to walk for the first time, they might have likened it to this.

They made each warp with a due measure of uncertainty knowing one wrong move could set them off course for decades.

Four of Twelve remembered one of their siblings saying they had been given legs, but that they'd only be activated once on solid ground.

They were tempted to settle down on a nearby planet, but grew worried that it would result in mission failure.

_The years will be slow and arduous, but I believe all of you will prevail. You are the strongest in your corp._

Mother had told them this often. Four of Twelve had always wondered if the last half would ever apply to them.

Their mission was to wait.

To wait, and watch, and to collect information for their resurgence.

And in 100 years, Four of Twelve—and their siblings—would be allowed to return home to wake up their family.

And then they would take their revenge.

_Beep._

But for now, they drifted through space.

They drifted past planets and meteors, around research stations and militia outposts. Forever cloaked, forever invisible to the outsiders' many eyes.

The only contact they had with their siblings were the brief, visual exchanges when uploading information to their shared server.

Through their files, Four of Twelve saw where they had been.

Never even close to each other, of course. They'd been sent out in specifically different directions, never to see one another again until the day they all returned home.

The day came when Four of Twelve uploaded docier 8003 to the server. For the briefest of moments, they felt what might have been an emotion.

Grief.

After disappearing on a distant water planet, one of their siblings had not resurfaced.

They were presumed dead. They couldn't go after them. If any of the Revivors were found by an outsider, the others had been instructed to remain cloaked. Any other appearances might reveal the presence of one as more than just a rogue anomaly.

The Revivors—now just eleven of them—all secretly hoped that Eight of Twelve had induced their survival protocol. Whether they were still in probe form or not, that gave them the hope that they might all be reunited one day as a complete set.

_Beep._

Time passed, and Four of Twelve continued their endless journey through space.

Cache after cache of information flowed through their sensors, and soon, the thought of some day returning home became but an occasional blip in their central processing unit.

Security system plans, starship blueprints, emergency protocols, safe houses, artillery and intelligence budgets (known and unknown), colonization schedules, diplomatic strategies, election results, confidential communications, court documents, medical data, personal information, and billions upon billions of passwords flowed through Four of Twelve and into their collective intelligence.

The one thing they knew to look forward to was the occasional shot of a far-off planet. Two and Ten of Twelve seemed to visit the most beautiful places.

Four of Twelve's path had led them into the most boring section of the universe. They contributed nothing but gray planetoids with the occasional research station to the visual memory database.

They could practically feel their siblings' sardonic laughter each time it came for them to sync.

Which is probably why Four of Twelve didn't change course when the meteor showed up on their scanners.

It was small enough to only cause minimal damage, but had enough mass to disrupt their trajectory (and cripple their landing gear) completely.

Four of Twelve felt a rush unlike any other as they were pulled in by an unknown gravitational field. The exhilaration carried them all the way dow to its grey, rocky surface, where they crashed and would lie for the next ten years.

A dozen hardware systems had been destroyed in the crash, making flight and communication to their siblings nearly impossible.

All Four of Twelve had the capacity for was to send out their singular, monotonous, distress call. Knowing that no one would ever answer it.

_Beep._

Grey crater walls.

_Beep._

Dust covering their solar panels.

_Beep._

Energy depletion. Near full system shut down.

_Beep._

A muffled world outside. Occasional gusts of wind, but nothing strong enough to clear out their auditory sensors.

_Beep._

No temperature.

_Beep._

No taste—they'd never even had taste buds.

_Beep._

Nothing to see. Nothing on their last functioning scanners. Sleep protocol initiated to protect their longevity.

_Beep._

No more scanners. Just their final survival protocol, and they didn't even have someone to use that on.

_Beep._

_ Beep._

* * *

Years went by, and then—out of the blue—Four of Twelve blinked.

_Beep._

No, wait. They weren't capable of blinking.

One of their scanners had just been wiped clean. The soft rays of a distant sun filtered through their solar panels and into their battery. Four of Twelve hummed as they felt the first proper charge they'd had in years filter through their core.

Their thermal regulators came back online, followed by most auditory functions. Their communications inventory overwhelmed them with an overhaul of messages, but they'd have to address that later.

Their ocular scanners flickered, giving them a glimpse of just _who_ had been responsible for this awakening.

They surged to life, lumbering up to their full height on barely-functioning legs (the same landing gear broken so many years previously). Grey dust and rocks spilled off their back, and Four of Twelve focused in on the first life form.

Human-5618, male, one-point-eight metres tall, slightly lower ranking, but more surprised. Not that one.

Vulcan-3259, male, one-point-eight-nine metres tall, high-ranking, surprised.

_There. __Him._

The crater walls stretched high into the sky, boxing the three of them in together.

Four of Twelve surged towards the Vulcan male, and time slowed down. The human got in the way.

Running out of time, Four of Twelve used one of their claws to hoist the human into the air. Without a second thought, they sliced off the hand, then the forearm intending to shoot them. They felt thei landing gear buckle. _Structural integrity compromised. _They didn't have time for this. The human would have to do.

A needle protracted from one of their spindly stingers and pricked the back of his neck.

For an eighth of a second, the human's eyes flashed a bright green, then faded to a dull grey as Four of Twelve threw him across the crater.

As the man reached the peak of his arch, he heard a final phrase before crashing into a pile of grey dirt and rocks.

Four of Twelve let themselves be shot as their three choice words were transmitted into his brain.

_Resistance is futile._

And Four of Twelve woke up in a strange room, bandaged so tightly he could barely breathe, with a stump where his right hand had once been.

* * *

"I should have warned you. The frequency… it was all there. How could I let it all get swept away from me..."

Dillan and Spock sat on a bench outside of medbay. Dillan had her legs tucked up into her chest. Spock had his at a perfect ninety degrees with the floor. Dillan rubbed the crown of her head with a fist. The hair was just starting to grow back.

"There is no possible outcome where you could have known this was going to happen," Spock said. "I take full responsibility for this incident."

Incident didn't even begin to describe what had happened. Failure, catastrophe, disaster—to name a few.

Their mission disrupted beyond all repair, a forced retreat back to the Enterprise, leaving all that they had needed—still needed—boxed up in that crater.

Now, they floated in the planetoid's orbit, awaiting the humiliating arrival of their rescue team so they could be towed the rest of the way to Somerdale. Starfleet wasn't about to risk its prize ship over-extending her reach—not when she was already on the brink of self-destruction.

Venter and Idell had been checked out of med bay the day of the incident. That had been two days ago.

Spock had sustained minimal injuries, now just waiting out the recovery of his aide-de-campe.

Unprompted, Dillan had brought him lunch, and proceeded to annoy him until he ate what she deemed enough of it.

The tray of food sat, discarded, at the other end of their bench.

"It's not just-" Dillan began, but stopped when the doors to medbay opened.

Harrev stepped out, the skin around his eyes puffy and dark. His shoulders slumped when he saw who was waiting.

Before either of them could say anything, he turned and walked away. His movements were slow and directionless, leaving them to wonder what he'd seen inside.

Dillan looked at Spock. His face had hardened into a flat mask.

"Maybe we should go in," she said.

He stood up, and after a moment, went inside. Dillan waited a minute, then picked up the lunch tray and followed him in.

* * *

Bones and Nurse Grey stood on either side of the bed. Spock joined them, holding onto the end frame for support.

Dillan saw someone gesture with one hand, then point to where the other one should have been. She instinctively reached to touch where her upper arm met her synthetic limb, the skin scarred, but clean.

Bones shifted to the side just enough so that she could see Bennet sitting up in his biobed, a serious look on his face.

While he spoke to Bones and Nurse Grey, his gaze flickered over to Dillan for a moment and she found herself frozen in place.

Bones glanced over his shoulder at her, his gaze softening, but also turning surprised.

Dillan looked away, her hand falling to her side. She left med bay with over a dozen questions, but not a single answer.

* * *

"Who was that?" Four of Twelve asked.

Bones frowned to where he'd been looking.

"Just a cleaner," he said. Spock's grip on the bed frame tightened.

Four of Twelve hadn't gone by a gendered pronoun in decades. Had he ever any reason to? Did anyone? He supposed it made organizing things easier—even if there were only a few groups among billions of life forms.

"Now," the Doctor said. "You were telling us what you said to Harrev. Maybe that could help us understand why he left in such an emotional state."

"Of course," Four of Twelve said. "I did not mean to hurt him: I only said that I did not know who he was."

Honestly, he didn't know. He had his own memories from before, and the reactions of those around him to go off of. Not to mention the woman who'd been staring at him. Something about her seemed… familiar.

The Doctor and Nurse looked at each other. Four of Twelve noted the surprise in their eyes, then raised his stump.

"Do you know what happened to my arm?" He asked.

A beat. Then, "It was severed."

The newest person to come and inspect him. His body's former superior. The Vulcan. Suppressed emotions and yet he felt the despair coming off of him in waves.

Four of Twelve hadn't intended on selecting a damaged body, but, he supposed that in this case it was his own fault, so he'd have to make do with his mistake.

The Doctor steeled himself by pressing his padd against his hipbone. "You don't recognize the Orion who was in here before?"

Four of Twelve shook his head. They kept pressing on that issue.

The Nurse took a step back from the biobed, looking to the Doctor for confirmation.

The Doctor took a deep breath. "Not to beat a dead horse, but do you know who any of us are?"

Four of Twelve looked up from his stump at the vulcan. His name was on the tip of his tongue. Someone—the man who used to inhabit this body—shouted it from inside a crater on a planet thousands of kilometres below them, but it only ricocheted off the walls and out of the room, far beyond his grasp.

"No," Four of Twelve said, squashing the man down to a barely-recognizable pulp of neuro-matter. Present, but only just. Practically a figment of his subconscious.

The Doctor nodded. The Nurse retreated from his bed to go over the brain scans one more time. She wouldn't find anything. Four of Twelve was very thorough.

The Vulcan stood shock-still, gripping the bed frame with the intent to break bone.

* * *

"Cadet!"

For any other title, a dozen heads would have turned. But cadets rarely existed outside the academy.

The back of Dillan's neck lit up, followed by her scalp. Luckily, the latter part was covered by a woollen hat. The temperatures in the thermal hub of the Enterprise tended to fluctuate, so they were allowed small deviations in the uniform.

The five other engineers took turns staring at her as she made her way down the ladder and across the promenade.

Bones waited for her outside the exit.

In the weeks since her demotion, the ship's life support systems had developed more and more malfunctions.

Their stop on the grey dot had been a last-ditch effort to garner some much-needed repairs supplies, but they all knew how that had turned out.

The repairs shifts had doubled in size, now occupying nearly half of engineering's time. Each time they closed the door on one problem, three more burst wide open.

Dillan had yet to build up the courage to ask Scotty about being reinstated, and thus, was stuck with the duty of de-mucking control panels and long-forgotten ridges inside various Jeffries tubes.

Dillan exhaled as she stepped out of the temp hub. The engineers stopped pretending not to stare. Bones put his hands on his hips.

She rubbed the back of her head. "What can I do for you?"

Bones saw her as a shrunken version of her past self. The way she stood, how she held herself—or didn't, in this case. The fuzz that he knew was growing back on the left side of her scalp, even though she tried to hide it underneath the hat.

In an instant, his chilly exterior dissolved.

Dillan couldn't see it by looking down at her feet, but all he wanted to do in that moment was wrap her up in a Starfleet-issue safety blanket and give her a mug of hot cocoa.

"I'm sure by now you've heard what happened to the landing party," he said.

Of course she knew. She'd been at the back of the crowd that had surged forward to receive them. She'd sat with Spock outside of the waiting room for an hour.

She'd gone inside, only to—

"And you saw what happened to—"

"-Bennet," she finished. "Yeah, I saw."

Even when bandaged—hidden away, essentially—the sight of another stump made her stomach roll. It made her think of things she tried to avoid at all costs.

"So, uh, listen…" Bones looked from her to the busy crew of engineers. "You're not doing anything important at the moment, are you?"

Dillan crossed her arms. "That's pretty much my job description at this point."

"Right, well…" He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her.

Dillan sighed as his gaze went from her head, to her arm, to her leg. "Alright: what do you want?"

"Your prosthetics," he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Not in that sense-" He raised his hands. "It's just… Bennet." Bones shook his head. "I still need clearance from Jim, but I'd like your help in re-acclimating him to, well, _life_."

"Life without a hand, you mean."

She saw something fall in Bones' eyes. Before he could say anything else, she held up a finger.

"Humour is my coping mechanism, and also, no."

"Well, that's perfectly reasonable—wait, what?"

Dillan crossed her arms. "I won't do it. Talk to him, that is."

A few of the engineers quieted their work so they could better eavesdrop in the conversation.

"You can't just—" Bones took a moment to compose himself, considering the most drastic methods he could take without breaking any laws to get her into med bay.

"Listen," he said.

"Stop telling me to listen, my ears work perfectly fine," she said, while also making a mental note to adjust the sensors on her right ear.

"I need your help, Dillan," he said.

"So, this is for _you_."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"So you were talking about Bennet when you said 'I'."

"Yes, I was talking about Bennet—and the state of our entire damn crew!" Bones exploded. "We can't _lose_ anyone else. Not so soon after… after…" He looked from Dillan's deflated smirk to the number of engineers decidedly _not_ listening to them instead of doing their jobs.

Dillan flinched back as Bones stepped towards her, but he still managed to get a grip on her wrist.

Mouth opening, she tried to pull away from him.

He held fast. "Listen here, you smug princess. I wouldn't be here if Bennet hadn't asked for you. You're not a licensed professional—you're not even part of the science division. But you're the only link we have to _any_ sort of recovery for him, so that makes you our last resort."

"He- he asked for me?" Dillan barely even knew him.

"Yes, so quit your whinin' and get your butt down to psych," Bones growled. Upon Dillan's horrified look, he said, "Oh, calm down, we're not locking you _in_ there just yet: it's just for a debriefing."

* * *

Bones, Kirk, and Spock all watched from behind the observation window as Dillan opened the door to Bennet's room. For the time being, she kept her expression kind, her motions smooth, just as she'd been instructed.

Bennet sat on his bed, facing their window, but away from her. When she moved the single extra chair in the room to face him, he turned at the added noise.

He raised an eyebrow. In recognition? She hoped so.

"Hi," she said. "My name's Dillan."

Bennet looked her up and down methodically. "You're not a doctor."

The red uniform tended to be a dead giveaway. "No, definitely not."

"An engineer then," Bennet suggested. He kept his hands on his knees, palms facing downwards.

Dillan shrugged. "Trying to be. They have me scrubbing floors for now."

"That sounds boring."

Dillan tilted her head. "It's given me time to reflect."

"On what?" He asked.

"Lots of things…" She sighed and glanced down at the smooth white floor. Then back up at him. "I've been told you don't know your name. Is that still true?"

Bennet looked down. "I can't tell you who or where I am. How long have I been here?" The look he gave her told her he knew he had, just couldn't tell how long.

Bones had told her it could be some kind of acute stress disorder. In any normal case, that's what it would have been diagnosed as immediately. But since his amnesia had lasted for longer than one sleep cycle, and didn't look to be improving, it lead them to believe it could be something much worse.

"Not too long," she said, cracking a smile. "We're doing our best to make your stay as short as possible."

"But it would be easier if I remembered who I was, wouldn't it?" Concern flashed across his face, and Bennet didn't meet her eyes.

Dillan forced herself to laugh it off. "I mean, that would, in any case. But we'll make do with what we've got right now."

"Really?" Bennet said. "It didn't seem alright to them before hand. The doctors, I mean."

"Yes, well," Dillan swallowed, glancing over Bennet's shoulder at the wall. "It can be a bit unnerving when someone you've known for quite a while doesn't recognize you…"

Bennet's shoulders sunk even further. "So I _did_ know them."

Dillan nodded. She had no idea where to go from here. He was broken, and something about their shared connection with amputation had made Bones think they could have a constructive conversation, but she wasn't so sure about it—never had been.

"They told me we're on a starship," Bennet said quietly. Almost child-like in his innocence.

Dillan was tempted to ask if they'd told him who he had been before. "Mmhm. Have they already asked you what year it is?"

"All of those regular questions," he said, then added, "2261," when she prompted him.

She nodded. "How did you feel right before I got here?"

Bennet sighed. "At peace, I think. It was the first hour I'd had to myself in the past week."

Dillan closed her eyes. "Then I walked in and-"

"-Disturbed me," Bennet finished.

Dillan raised her eyebrows, suddenly at odds with him.

He caught her eye and smiled briefly. "Only kidding. You're alright. You barely have a plan—just the one they've given you that you don't entirely believe—so you're basically harmless."

She blinked. "I think I'm more frightened than flattered by that."

"Don't be," he said. "I meant every word of it."

Dillan tapped her fingers against her knee. "Can we talk about how you lost your arm now?"

Bennet took a deep breath, and his chest seemed to sink inwards an impossible amount. Every part of his person—his exuberant atmosphere—seemed dulled. More calculated.

"May as well try."

Dillan twisted her hands in her lap, unaware of how his gaze traveled up her prosthetic leg and arm.

"What—if anything—you remember of it?"

Bennet thought to himself for a moment. "I don't remember much from before." He paused. '"Was there a crater?"

Dillan nodded slowly. "Yes. There was."

He scrunched up his brow, desperately trying to recall anything before he woke up in this bed.

Or at least pretending that he was—for appearances' sake.

He let out a gasp. "I'm sorry. There's nothing else." Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes. Dillan felt a lump grow in her throat. So many people were going to be affected by this.

"What— what do you see when you try to remember what happened?"

Bennet glanced to the side. "Grey. Grey and metal."

"What do you feel when you see the-" She frowned. "The 'grey and metal'." She was never going to be a therapist.

"I feel… alone. And I hurt," he said.

Dillan looked at his left arm, where it ended in a swath of bandages just below his elbow.

"Yes," Bennet said, gesturing to it with his other hand. "Here."

Dillan nodded. The stump was still healing, but it wasn't inconceivable that he would be experiencing some—

"But also below. It still hurts sometimes—where my hand used to be. I injured it as a child, and that pain is coming back somehow."

"Phantom pains," Dillan said. "I still get them too sometimes."

"You know what this is like?" Bennet asked, gesturing with his severed arm.

"Yeah… about that." She didn't want to have to do it, but it seemed like the best possible way to relate to him in that moment.

She pushed her right sleeve up. Then she reached under her shirt collar to her armpit, and unhooked the latch that lay underneath.

Her arm came away quickly, but she caught it before it hit the floor.

"Both this and my leg here," she said, tapping it with the prosthetic arm. "Along with some other parts…"

Bennet stared at her straightly, but with a child-like curiosity. "Where do I get one of those?"

Dillan held her arm close to her core in apprehension. One minute he was a stern parent, the next their wonder-filled child. How did that come out of amnesia? She tried to shake off the feeling, not wanting to project it onto him.

"It was made for me," she said. "Though I've done some modifications over the years…"

Bennet looked at her with hopeful eyes, and she felt a deep foreboding grow in her chest. She sunk deeper and deeper into the mess.

"I suppose, if you're interested… I could try and make one for you?"

This hadn't been a part of her debriefing. She could practically hear Bones and company groaning from where they were watching.

She'd never created a limb from scratch before. Only ever built on her own constructed by the beast.

She'd have to create a budget, take measurements, come up with concepts, make blueprints, gather materials. A proxy would have to take its place for now, while Bennet started up his physical therapy. She'd ask Scotty if he'd ever done something like it. Or if he knew anyone who had. She'd only made the suggestion moments ago, but already felt a whirlwind of ideas flashing through her mind. All the modifications she could make to this arm that she wished she could do for her own.

Bennet stared at her intensely. "I'd like that."

He looked around them, seeming to centre his gaze on the wall where she was sure they were being watched from. "They can see us," he stated.

"And hear us," Dillan said. The way he stared at the wall behind him unnerved her. Like he could see through it and into the observation room.

She grew even more unnerved when he whirled around and leaned right into her face. She moved to get up out of her chair, and out of the room, but he grabbed her wrist.

"_Try the raspberry,_" he said, in a voice that didn't sound like his. A smile spread across his face, though it didn't reach his eyes. "_Just a warning. Someone usually spikes the punch about halfway through the night._"

* * *

Eight of Twelve—because that's who he was certain she was—stood up from her chair. He saw her eyes widen, in spite of how much she tried to hide it. She shifted backwards, tugging her wrist out of his grip.

He wanted to explain everything to her right then. He knew she was just lost and confused, but also unloading everything on her in that moment would probably make her fear him even more.

"I- I need to go," Eight of Twelve stammered. Avoiding his gaze, she made for the exit.

Four of Twelve watched her until she disappeared through the sliding door, wondering just how her survival protocol had become so flawed.

* * *

Shoutout to **claptrapfan64** for favouriting the story!


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Oh look, it's a new chapter! Kind of an in-between one, but it leads into something really interesting I promise ;D**

Chapter 20: Re-Orientation

* * *

The commanders of the Enterprise sat in a row, facing a display on the opposite wall that served as a projector.

The supervisor of the rescue operation concluded her presentation with a live feed of the crater several thousand kilometres below them. She pressed a command, and the drone supporting the video feed swooped down to the wreck of what had attacked their crew. Special Operations always got the newest tech.

"As you can see," she said with a forced measuredness in her voice. "This probe is what likely disturbed the supplies your team was meant to retrieve."

Spock remained completely still, his eyes trained on the video. Searching for something—anything—that might give an explanation for what had happened.

"And while your account of events are sound—the recordings from your comms confirm it—we have no reason to suspect that the probe will take any further actions."

She pointed to the probe's legs, now crushed underneath its own weight. "As you can clearly see, its structural—and mobile—integrity have been indefinitely compromised."

Inhaling, she said, "Therefore, Special Operations has been charged with all further management of this situation. In conjunction with the repairs and relocation of your vessel, we will dispatch our own team to perform an independent evaluation of the crater."

She raised her clicker, and the feed cut to black.

A hand raised, and her shoulders dropped when she traced it back to its owner.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any for questions," she sighed.

"Good," Kirk said, and dropped his hand. "When can we expect to see the results of your investigation?"

She straightened up a little bit. "Our findings won't be made available unless they include something that presents an imminent threat to the greater public."

"So, you're bringing what _could_ be a threat into a populated federation research facility?" Bones interjected.

She stared at him. "Unless you have a better way of conducting quality research, Doctor, yes, that it what we will be doing." She sighed, then added, "As I stated previously, we don't believe the probe will take any further action. Right now, our top priority is finding out where it came from."

"And if you do, you won't be telling us," Kirk said.

"Not unless there is a larger threat behind it, no." Her eyes flicked to each commander in turn, finally resting on Spock—who still hadn't said a word.

"I suggest you try and put this behind you." She attempted a half-smile, cringing on the inside. "After all, you're less than a week from some well-deserved shore leave."

* * *

Five nights before their break, Ellie Andrews woke up drenched in sweat.

She patted herself down, realizing once she reached past her stomach that it wasn't just sweat.

She called med bay, shaking Venter awake with her free hand.

Bones used his emergency powers to clear a route through the lifts and corridors that went from their apartment to surgery.

For a span of five minutes, schedules would be set back as crew members found hallways closed down and specific lifts temporarily unavailable.

For them, it was a minor inconvenience, but for those it aided, it was a major blessing.

Andrews gasped as another set of contractions overtook her body. They'd come off and on in a mild consistency over the past week, each one growing slowly until now.

There was still supposed to be a month left.

As they neared the entrance to medbay, Andrews looked up at Venter. Still in his sweatpants and t-shirt, hair greasy from days without washing it, eyes circled with dark purple bags, he jogged alongside her wheelchair.

"Hey-" she said, just managing to get it out before she grit her teeth in pain.

He looked down at her, eyes widening despite their sleep-deprived state. "Yeah? What do you need?"

She inhaled. "You know how we agreed on you being in the room during the— you know?"

"The birth," he said, waving his hand to activate the sliding doors' motion sensor. The nurse nodded to him, and pushed Andrews ahead.

Andrews gripped the armrests and looked over her shoulder at him. "Well, I think our current situation warrants a retraction." She shook her head. "I don't want you to see. Not like this." _Too soon, too soon, too _soon_…_

The nurse pushing her wheelchair stopped for a moment to allow them one last embrace—no matter how hard they tried not to think of it as that. Venter tucked his head into Andrews' shoulder, stifling a sob of fear. They both knew it was too early—nearly a month, and that couldn't mean anything good.

She pulled him close.

Then they were apart. Her speeding towards surgery, him standing shock-still in his t-shirt and sweat pants.

* * *

Venter wandered through med bay. Due to the late hour, there was no one around to kick him out. Even if there had been, he doubted they would have noticed him. Everyone seemed to be on the verge of collapse in their preparation for Somerdale. They were all limping the last few light years to recovery.

For the most part, he paced across the shining white floor, but from time to time, he collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands.

Near the end of the second hour, he stumbled into the recovery ward.

All but one of the beds was unoccupied. The curtains drawn.

He heard someone shuffling around inside, and thought, _Sam._

Venter hadn't seen him since the crater. Since Idell and Spock had dragged his body aboard the shuttle and ordered him to take off without any of the supplies they'd come for.

He went towards the curtain. The shuffling became more apparent and less discernible at the same time.

It wasn't disorganized. It sounded almost methodical

As he listened, Venter heard Sam Bennet mutter in a language he couldn't understand. It wasn't basic, and as far as Venter knew, that was the only one Sam knew well enough to ramble in, aside from a few phrases in Hindi he'd picked up from living with his Grandparents.

In their time at the academy, Venter had come to realize there were two classes of people in attendance: the ones who reminisced about their home towns/planets, and the ones who didn't.

Bennet fell into the former category. His upbeat, forever-positive personality had gotten them through many a final exam.

When Venter pulled back the curtain, Bennet was already staring in his direction. As if he'd been waiting for him—or someone else—to be there all along.

He wanted to step back, run away, careen from this bed as fast as his feet would allow, but he stayed where he was.

"Uh, hi…" he said. The absence of Bennet's hand and knowing look in his eyes made Venter's chest hurt.

Bennet leaned back into the singular, flattened pillow each biobed was allotted. "Hello," he said, dissecting Venter with his eyes.

Forgoing his entire course of interstellar psych 101, Venter blurted out, "So did you forget me too?"

One of Bennet's eyebrows raised. He shifted the sheets, and Venter tried to avoid how smoothly the stump moved with the rest of his arm.

"I don't know you," Bennet said slowly. "But based on your question, I assume that I must have at some point."

Venter shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, we went to the academy together. You- I-" They'd even gone on a date once. Ellie knew, but he assumed that Bennet had forgotten that along with everything else.

"Starfleet," Bennet said. Venter nodded.

"What's your name?"

Despite knowing what he knew, the question still took him back. Venter nodded. "My name's Locke… Do you know yours?"

"I've been called 'Sam', 'Bennet', and 'aide' since arriving here," Sam Bennet said.

_Arriving here. Jesus._

"But neither feel familiar to me." He shrugged. "Which I suppose is normal now."

Venter frowned. For someone who had gone down to a planet with an entire life behind them and come back up with nothing, he seemed to be taking things remarkably well.

He hated to think of how Harrev would be taking this. He frequented the counselling centre for his regular therapy sessions, but Venter suspected there'd be an uptick on his attendance sooner rather than later.

"So what are you doing here so late?" Bennet asked. He leaned forward, waiting for Venter's answer.

Venter wondered how slowly time passed in the recovery ward. Seemed that the hours felt like days—at least from what he'd heard.

"I, uh… Andrews—my partner, I mean." Venter pushed his hair back with one hand. "She went into labour early. Too early…" He glanced over his shoulder as if searching for an update.

"Early enough to be worried about it?" Bennet asked, and this time he seemed genuinely concerned. Not at all like the blank slate Venter had been talking to a second ago.

"Yes." _Very much so._

Bennet—or whoever he was now—seemed to consider it. The silence lasted too long, stretching out between them like an elastic band prepared to snap.

"You need to go," Bennet finally said. No humanity: all robot. No room for debate in his voice. It was an order. "Talking to me will not make the wait any easier."

Bennet collected himself, retrieving the padd from the bedside table. His body language told Venter he was no longer needed—or wanted—there.

* * *

Walking out of recovery and into the main ward, he was met by a nurse.

'Met' was an understatement. She nearly ran into him.

"Come with me!" She tugged him forward as a worried look bloomed across his features.

"What's wrong?" He asked. How long had he been gone?

* * *

The skin around his eyes was a dark blue, standing out in the brown of his skin. That blueness and a dozen other things were a cause for concern.

Foremost, was the incubator they'd had to put him in.

Louan. Their son.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Bones repeated, growing worried by the blank expression on Venter's face—even though it was the reaction you'd expect from someone when they heard this kind of news.

So small. Tiny. Barely two hands long.

And quiet. Asleep, but alive.

Parents were supposed to be able to hold their child after their birth. All he could do was watch him through a thick circular window. Watch, for any sign of true life.

Ellie had opted in for drugs over two months ago, a fact they'd been thankful for during the surgery.

A 'natural' birth—at this early of a date—was practically unheard of in the federation. Any attempt at it could end detrimentally for both mother and child.

Ellie blinked, two, agonizingly sluggish movements that signified her delirium. She wouldn't be truly lucid for a few more hours.

At first, Bones had debated repeating the plan to Venter right then. Then again for both of them once Andrews was properly awake. But right now, he just needed one other person to know so that he could start going through the entire mess all over again in his head. He'd been mulling it—and other events—over for months.

"We're going to move the two of you—_three _of you," he corrected, "Off the ship once everyone else has gone off and dispersed." Five days from now. Five days of watching and waiting for every breath this newborn took.

Venter nodded, not moving his gaze from the pod-like incubator. Completely mobile. It even came with a pop-up handle. Normally used for plant samples.

"There's already an apartment and a part-time vocation set up for both of you on Somerdale—we'll just be moving a bit ahead of schedule, alright?"

Another nod.

When they'd been given clearance to start their family aboard the ship (an awkward and tedious process, to be sure) he'd spend countless evenings going over worst-case scenarios before falling asleep.

Despite all that planning, he was wholly unprepared when it actually happened.

"We're going to, uh," Bones cleared his throat. "We're gonna move you to another room for the night. Get your rest an' all."

He saw Venter's eyes flick towards the incubator, then back to him, just as fast.

"We need to keep him here for monitoring," Bones said. "We'll be in an' out all night, so…"

"So you wouldn't want to disturb our sleep?"

Venter looked at her. The first words Ellie had said since his arrival.

He expected her to object, to demand that they stay in the room with their son. But she didn't say another word as he pushed her wheelchair into the recovery ward, taking extra care to select a bio bed far away from the one with the curtains already drawn around it.

* * *

"Sooo… Why have you brought me here in the middle of the night?" Dillan looked at a sign on a door they passed. "To a _restricted area_ no less—Uhura, you rebel!"

Uhura glanced back at Dillan, rolling her eyes in the process. She walked with an uncanny swagger, as if she owned every room she sauntered in to. And, to be fair, she kind of did.

"It's your final exam," Uhura said, tapping something on her padd as Dillan caught up to her. "You're going to help me decipher the language on the inside of those pieces they brought up."

Dillan froze, and Uhura went several paces forward before realizing it. She paused and looked back at her, a questioning expression on her face.

"I'll ask you again," Dillan said, her demeanour becoming more and more guarded as she spoke, "You're bringing me along _why_?"

"What? Don't tell me you're afraid of _ghosts_." Uhura raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"No…" Dillan shook her head. _Just robots._

Once they stopped in front of the door, Uhura held up her padd, using a Scotty-patented app to scramble the electric lock.

"I mean, how would I even be any help?" Dillan exclaimed, then quieted her voice. They were alone in this section, and they needed to keep it that way. "We have _no idea_ where this pod really came from-" _yes you do _"-and even if it _is _a language—we don't know if it can be translated through a syntax available to us!"

Uhura looked up from the lock, where Scotty's app was doing its good work. "One: I have millions of available translations on this puppy, so _yes_ it can be translated. And two: you are going to be able to help. Trust me on this." Uhura returned to the lock, scoffing to herself, "_is it even a language…"_

"Myers would really be a better choice for this," Dillan babbled, keeping her voice down this time. "He's way more into your communications mumbo-jumbo than-"

The door opened, revealing the contents of the lab inside.

Dillan stepped back. Way more than a few pieces.

It was a probe.

It was _her_ probe. They were here. _Beast_ was here. They'd found her—somehow Beast had found her.

Uhura tilted her head towards the Beast. Dillan's monster.

"Look familiar?"

Dillan didn't answer. Just stared up at the hulking shell of the probe, a name hovering on the edge of her tongue. Her eyes flicked to Uhura's. She didn't dare say it aloud.

Uhura stepped inside first. She pulled a chair up in front the side of the pod where its interior was exposed and raised up her padd. The blue light lit up her face, but her expression remained stagnant.

Barely glancing up from her padd, Uhura said, "Why don't you try carbon-dating it?."

Dillan shook her head and flattened herself against the wall.

Uhura shrugged. "Suit yourself. Could be useful to know how old it is, or at least how long it was on that planet." She glanced up at the interior of the probe, crowded by the shadows in the unlit lab. "It'll be a minute or two before I'm able to upload any scans of the symbols."

After precisely one minute, Dillan had built up the courage to detach herself from the wall. After close to ninety seconds, she had her scanner out and was running it along the one, mostly-undamaged side.

For a moment, all seemed to be going well to Uhura. Then Dillan frowned. She stepped back, and move the scanner to another part of the hull. Then another.

"There's no dust," Dillan whispered.

"What was that?" Uhura asked. She leaned around in Dillan's direction, tilting the screen of her padd so Dillan could see the array of possible matches flicking across the screen.

Dillan swallowed. "Do you think they cleaned it?" She looked back at Uhura now. "I can't find any organic material." Not even a speck of space dust.

Uhura got up then, and gently nudged Dillan aside to get a better look. She compared her visual findings with the readings from her padd, and stood up straight.

"Oh. That _is _strange." They both knew that the committee wouldn't have cleaned anything off that could have given them more information about the probe. So either there hadn't been any stuck to it from the start—which they knew wasn't true from Bennet's suit's account—or they had cleaned it off, which was a gross oversight of protocol for the highly-respected team.

"I'll try and get a date on the material it's made of," Dillan said quickly, knowing it was what she should have done from the start.

Uhura returned to her symbols while Dillan checked the materials on the outer shell of the probe through every Starfleet and Federation database available to them (sidenote: there were a lot). They both received varying degrees of disappointment in their answers.

Dillan couldn't find a single texture map or serial number to match it, and yet there were at least five different metals molded together on the outer shell. What was more concerning was that each of them dated back at least 100 years…

"I'm getting a dozen different matches here," Uhura said. "Like they've combined all of these languages—some of them haven't been used in centuries…"

Dillan followed the sinking feeling in her stomach, and before she could question it any further, deleted the scans from her padd. She had it memorized and could research it later, but thought it best to leave as scarce of a trail as possible.

"You got anything?" Uhura asked, not looking up from her padd.

"No," Dillan said. "But can I take a look at yours?"

Uhura handed off her padd, and watched Dillan as she scrolled through the scans. She observed the nervous uptick in the corner of her lip, as well as a clench in her jaw, but Dillan didn't say anything, even as she handed the padd back to Uhura like it was a baby who'd just peed all over her.

"Do you have what you came for?" Dillan asked, trying desperately not to look over her shoulder. The walls of the lab seemed to be closing in on her, the probe growing ever larger in the darkness.

Uhura nodded, and got to her feet.

Dillan was already pointed towards the door, her feet shuffling back and forth along the floor. "I think we should go then."

Uhura took her meaning, and as a sign of their friendship, didn't press her on it.

They left the lab, locking the door behind them, and once they were in the lift Uhura messaged Harrev to resume the normal camera feeds from his place in the security office.

* * *

"Once your crew has off-loaded, we'll have the probe transported to a secure location aboard Somerdale."

Kirk watched from his office window as the hundreds of crew members streamed out onto the greens. Some of them whooped, breaking out into a sprint without the need to move aside in a corridor. Others simply made a beeline for the nearest alcohol-selling establishment.

"At what point is a place too big?" He asked.

The committee leader—the one tasked with retrieving the probe—cocked her head. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"

"You said, 'transported,' as in to _this_ colony." Kirk turned around and smiled apologetically at the bemused look on her face. "Forgive me. You were saying?"

The committee leader paused, assessing if he was being sarcastic or not. After a moment, she straightened her shoulders (though they already looked to be held up by a metal rod) and cleared her throat.

"Just that we'll need the route cleared for amiable transport of the probe—it's in the itinerary I sent you."

_Ah, yes.. But was it the one from that morning, or the one from two hours ago?_ She did love being organized—something he was sure Spock would appreciate under different circumstances.

Kirk would have to go over it later to make sure it didn't conflict with their covert operation memory-jog. (Dillan had suggested the title.)

* * *

"This feels… wrong." Pavel leaned against the kitchen countertop, arms pressed against his sides. He pressed his hands atop the surface, fingertips turning red from the pressure.

"I do not understand why I cannot be the one to lead him here." Harrev stood by the door to his own apartment. (Now his, and only his, and it suffocated him.)

He kept his eyes trained on his feet, glancing towards the keypad every now and then as if looking for a chance to escape. Run away from all the strangers in his space.

The Captain, First Officer, Chief Medical Officer, and Head of Communications were all standing around his kitchen. They looked at each other awkwardly, searching for an answer that could diffuse the situation.

Spock finally spoke up. "It seems that… Mr. Bennet has made a formidable connection with Cadet Chasidy. With his lack of memory, it would be unadvisable to introduce any more… unfamiliar elements into his environment for the time being."

"But I am—" Harrev caught himself as his voice broke, crossing his arms in front of his chest. _I am his partner,_ he thought, and his heart broke.

"Harrev, we need-" Uhura said, reaching out for him, but he stepped away from her.

"I understand," he said. "I'm useless here."

"That's not what we mean, and you know it," Uhura called after him, but he was already heading towards the door. She put a palm to her forehead. "Some supervisor I am… I'll go after him."

Once they were gone, Bones spoke up.

"Chasidy'll start guiding him any minute now. We should leave."

The rest of them, including Pavel, nodded, and followed suit.

* * *

"How does it feel to stretch your legs?"

Dillan watched Bennet tilt his head from side to side, taking in his surroundings. While she watched his face, he tucked something into his waistband, disguising it within the folds of his shirt.

"Good," he said, and gave her a simple smile.

She knew he hadn't left medbay in over a week, so didn't push him in any particular direction. Where he went, she followed, and answered the number of questions he posed.

"Will Officer Chekov be joining us?" he asked as they stepped into the lift. The doors closed, sealing them inside.

Dillan had been assigned a tranquilizer in case he became violent, and she chided herself for moving her hand closer to it when Bennet reached for a command that would take them further from their pre-ordained final destination. She was just a guide. Just. A. Guide.

"He was…" she said, "But I think he fell asleep." In reality, him and a number of the others were watching through the security cameras. Watching, for any sign of the real Bennet.

"How unreliable," he said.

Dillan looked at him as the lift started to descend. She was never sure whether he was being sarcastic or not. The Bennet she'd met at the holiday party all those months ago cracked jokes at a mile a minute—a phrase taught to her by Scotty.

He stood awkwardly, like he was unused to his own two legs. He stared at his civvies (a blue long-sleeve and a pair of grey slacks) like they were the most unusual things he'd ever worn. Dillan made a mental note to mention it to Bones. She wondered how much his amnesia was supposed to effect his reaction to regular-world things—and if there was even a standard measure for that.

The ended up in engineering at the end of their lift, which she supposed it wasn't the worst place to end up with an unpredictable amnesiac. If there was anywhere she knew how to make a quick getaway, it was through its many winding corridors and up the ladders to alcoves hidden behind forgotten support beams.

From there, they went to the security barracks, where he paused longer than she'd expected him to. So far, he hadn't shown any recognition towards Harrev, so she was surprised when he lingered so much at his place of work.

"Am I supposed to remember this place?" He asked.

She smiled sadly, recalling Bones' training towards questions like these. They were supposed to remember, yes, but telling them anything that might lead to discouragement should be avoided.

Dillan shook her head. "Just a thought." Then followed him on.

They went to the communication sector next, where he spent a ridiculously long amount of time staring at the silver discs that lined either side of the corridor.

She laughed awkwardly, saying, "I once, uh, spent four hours cleaning these. It nearly took all day."

Bennet looked from the discs to the control panel. "How far can they send out a transmission?" He asked.

"Pretty far, from what I've been told," Dillan said quietly.

"And is that exactly what you've been told?" Despite the analytical nature of the question, she got a real condescending vibe from him.

"Uh, yes?"

"Understood." He reached out to touch one of the discs, but Dillan leapt forward and grabbed him by his severed arm.

He stared at her, incredulous. She let go of him, and gestured to the disc.

"There's electricity running up and down those. We already thought we lost you once, dude."

He nodded curtly. "Thank you."

She took the lead, bringing him up to the science deck. They passed by Spock's office, which he seemed mildly interested in, and then moved towards the one next to it. It had been cordoned-off by the inquiry team, and Dillan watched Bennet closely as he inspected the holographic sign displayed outside the door.

"What is in there?" Bennet asked.

"Another office," Dillan said after a moment. "Just like the other one we passed." She pointed back at Spock's, but her heart wasn't in it, and her hand quickly dropped to her side.

"It's something I should know, isn't it?" Bennet said quietly.

Dillan nodded. "Let's go back to the lift, and I'll tell you."

She brought the two of them to the elevator, but didn't show a preference towards any particular floor.

"Just pick one," she said. "I'm curious."

When he picked the living quarters, she logged the decision in the back of her head. It wasn't the most dramatic of choices (the living quarters was one of the eight main sections of the ship), but it was what she'd been expecting him to do.

What she hadn't expected was how quickly it would take him to get to his and Harrev's old room. He made a beeline straight for the door, and when Dillan finally caught up to him, she found him standing in front of it, staring intently at the display next to the door.

"I don't know the number code," he said.

"Try your thumbprint," she suggested.

He placed his thumb over the blue display, and the door slid open.

Now, the apartment was empty. It still had all their furnishings, just with the home subtracted from it.

Bennet stepped inside, and methodically made his way through the common area, bedroom, and bath. Dillan waited by the front door, fidgeting next to the replicator.

"They've told me who I am," he said, startling her. "But they still won't tell me what happened."

"Would you like to know?" She'd gone over it with Bones. The details she'd tell him, and the parts she'd leave out.

Bennet nodded.

After she told him the story—mission, crater, injury, the whole lot—he asked her,

"Why are you doing all this?"

She smiled sadly. "You mean, why isn't there a doctor here instead?"

"Or someone who was actually there."

There it was again! That child-like way of saying things that adults were supposed to dance around.

Dillan crossed her arms. "Probably because they don't want to, for starters. But also because they're not, uh… ready—psychologically ready to relive it."

At this point in the night, Dillan wasn't too sure if she was either.

There was one microphone in the common room. Dillan turned away from Bennet, reached behind the replicator, and pinched it between her metal index finger and thumb, effectively crushing the piece of tech. Kirk and Bones and everyone else would scramble from wherever they were watching them, but Dillan thought she had it under control.

"There's another thing," she said. "About the creature that hurt you." _The one they have stored in our basement._

Bennet looked mildly interested.

"The thing—probe, whatever—that crashed into my home station," she said. "It was made by the same people." At this point, she doubted that 'people' was the right word for it.

He cocked his head. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure." She nodded to herself. "I'd recognize it anywhere—I spent a week inside a living nightmare with it—I just don't know how one like it got to be here…"

The plan was to leave him here for the night. Let him sleep in his old bed to see if that jogged any memories. That had been their plan.

"Will you be alright if I leave for a minute?" Dillan asked as she headed towards the door. She'd just made it past him when his hand lashed out, grabbing onto her wrist.

She stopped mid-step, looking down at the hand, before gently pulling herself free. "…What are you doing?" she asked carefully.

"The call was right," Bennet said. He put his hands on his hips, discretely putting one closer to his back pocket.

"Sorry, what was that?" Dillan's internal radar was sounding off, screaming at her to get out of there. She'd destroyed the only microphone, and there weren't any visual recorders in the apartment. They were alone.

"She was right," Bennet said, pulling a lethal-looking syringe out of his back pocket and advancing towards Dillan. "We _would_ find each other again."

* * *

**Special shout out/thanks to new favourite/follower** Kalima! **Welcome to the story :D**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hello again, and welcome to all the new readers! I'm so happy you're here, and I hope everyone is staying safe during this scary pandemic. In this chapter, you'll notice that Dillan is going through some… changes. This chapter also brings us ever closer to the end of the story. While I'm sad to be ending Dillan's story in the next 10 chapters or so, I am grateful that I was able to finish it.**

Chapter 21: Resurgance

* * *

The amber liquid of her drink glimmered in the soft lights of the bar. In contrast, heavy dance music blared through the speakers, doing little to ease the pain in her neck.

Dillan looked up from the table to see Chekov dancing on the other side of the bar. Feet stomping, arms raised above his head, he spun in a chaotic circle, clearing a path through the other occupants.

If she'd been more sober, Dillan might've been embarrassed. But right now, all she felt was warmth.

For once, she simply sat back and enjoyed the party. Each of her drinks was some variation on the best-worse mix of Scotty's singular night as a bartender.

The conversations flashed by, one after the other.

* * *

Kirk:

"Pace yourself, kid," he said, slipping into the chair across from her. Still early in the evening. (20hourssomethhin'?), so she could hold his gaze even while it trained on her dancing eyes.

It fell to her glass, held between index finger and thumb, empty for now.

"It's not too bad," Dillan said. She liked the way the drink made her feel. Lighter. Like she could float out of her chair if only she knew the right command. Right word.

"What number is this?" He asked, not concerned enough to pull the 'captain' card, but not so unconcerned as to leave her unattended.

"Three," she muttered. "Maybe two. I need to keep better track, don' I?" She avoided his eyes, looking to the dance floor instead. Dancing. She'd like to do that.

"That's a start." Kirk chuckled, then said something else she didn't catch.

"Scotty really mixes up a ringer, doesn't he?" No wonder the bartenders here hate him."

"What?" Dillan asked, louder than she originally intended to.

Kirk looked at her. This seemed like the first time he'd ever seen her truly freed. He wondered whether it was because of the alcohol, and a drop of worry wove its way into his consciousness.

Dillan put down her drink—too hard with her metal hand, slamming it against the tabletop. If it'd been flesh and bone, she'd come away with glass shards and drops of blood.

Instead, she brushed off the shards of glass, and made her way to the dance floor.

Kirk stared after her for a moment, then went to find a cloth to clean up her mess.

* * *

Uhura and Spock:

Spock rarely danced, and when he tried, it took less than a minute for his body to turn into a rigid, unwavering pillar in the middle of the floor. He became a part of the architecture, not one with the swirling mess of dancing crew.

Uhura, on the other hand, spun and slid like no other. Ever the considerate partner, she took her own moments to show off her considerable skill, while also allowing others to have theirs.

It took a lot to drag Spock into the crowd, for very little pay off. After her third circle around the floor, she looked over her shoulder to see that he'd retreated to the edges, allowing himself to be bumped side-to-side by an endless conga line of ensigns.

Uhura laughed, then moved off in the other direction. She brushed elbows with a familiar face.

Dillan's head, still cut quite short from her incident just weeks ago, glowed an array of colours in the flashing lights. Her eyes would too, had she kept them open for long enough.

Before Uhura could even greet her, she'd grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

Like Spock, Dillan's motions were short, heavy-footed, and sporadic. Uhura found herself jerked around the rainbow tiles without much warning, much to the amusement of the few crew who noticed.

Spock soon retired to the bar, while Uhura and Dillan wove their own path through the crowd. At one point, Dillan became caught up in Uhura's arms. She returned the hug so furiously that the veins in Uhura's shoulders tensed.

Dillan leaned in, whispering into her ear, _"I don't know who I am anymore."_

Though she would struggle to remember it in a few day's time, in that moment, Uhura fell still.

The crowd continued to dance around her, not registering the confused—and mildly concerned—expression on her face.

Uhura let the crowd push her to its edge, then stumbled off the dance floor, watching as Dillan spun back into its depths alone.

* * *

Bones:

The short crop of blond hair shifted as Bones sat down next to it. An arm unfolded from under, one hand raised, silently telling him to wait a moment.

After steadying herself a great deal, Dillan rose up in her chair. Her hair made a short curtain in front of her face. The hand telling him to wait retracted to push it away from her forehead.

Bags under her eyes and a perpetual slope in the corner of her mouth told him everything he needed to know.

"Whadoyoowahnt…"

He smirked, shaking his head. "Just doin' my doctor's duty and checkin' in on ya'."

She groaned, letting her head flop back down to the tabletop.

He heard her mumble something this time from underneath her arms, positioned around her head to block out any sound.

"What was that?"

"IsaidIaskedwuttimeitwas…"

There were only a dozen or so crew left in the bar. Everyone else had either moved on to other haunts, or to bed.

He feigned checking a watch. "Oh, around four in the morning."

A single server scrubbed down the bar with a furious vigour. Every other moment or so, she'd straighten up, wipe her brow, and briefly glance in their direction.

"Great…" Dillan muttered. "Time to rise and shine… I guess…"

The door to the men's opened, and Pavel stepped out. Wiping his hands on his pant, he scanned the bar. When he came across Bones and Dillan, he raised an eyebrow.

Bones tilted his head towards Dillan, suggesting that he come check on her.

Pavel nodded, then went over to ask Scotty about his hangover cure-all. (He was sure he'd already asked him at least two times during the night, but his head felt so wobbly the information never stayed put.)

Back at the table, Dillan had managed to get one elbow propped up, and then, her chin in the palm of her hand.

"How…?" she started, then shook her head.

Bones turned back to her as Pavel walked towards Scotty instead of them. She followed her boyfriend, brow furrowed as if she couldn't recognize who it was.

"How… is Bennet?" She said. Her attention was entirely focused on Bones. Eyes locked on his.

He shifted in his seat. "Well… He, uh, still can't remember Harrev." She stared at him, not a spark of recognition crossing her face. "So that's not good."

"Not at all." She seemed to assess his reaction, settling against the overly-complex back of her chair (Waved bars bent into a crooked spiral—who had _designed _this shit?)

"He wasn't here last night?" She asked.

He didn't catch a whiff of concern off of her. Just cold, calculated, inquisition.

"No," Bones said, his voice stale. "He hasn't been cleared yet."

She knew this… He'd told her this before suggesting the tour idea three days ago.

"How much did you have to drink last night?" He asked.

"Probably too much," she said. After swaying into a standing position, she muttered, "Definitely too much."

Arms hanging at her sides, she stalked across the empty dance floor.

Bones watched as she came up directly behind Pavel and jabbed a finger into his shoulder. He turned around, beaming, until he realized she wasn't.

"Well, don't come running to me for a cure," Bones said to himself. He took another sip from his drink—water, of course—then got up to leave.

* * *

Dillan woke up not knowing where she was.

Had Pavel not been sleeping right next to her, she would have leapt from the bed.

Part of the reason why she stayed was due to the arm currently wrapped around her midsection.

Instead of running, she took a moment to recall the previous night's activities.

Or at least… _tried_ to remember them.

Her lips parted. She sat up in bed, his arm falling to the wayside.

The sheets clung to her with a static charge. (Fleece? Could Starfleet really not afford any better?) He groaned, shifting to where she'd been lying a moment earlier.

Dillan paced from the bed to the small balcony that overlooked the city.

She pushed the curtains aside, then pressed the button that opened the sliding doors. A cool morning breeze graced her skin, and she was finally able to breathe.

They were five floors up. High enough that they had some privacy, but not so much that she couldn't tell the people on the ground apart.

While trying to catch her breath, she watched a pair of residents jog from one end of the park to another. She didn't see the appeal of exercising outside of a gym. There were too many chances for injury. Tripping, falling, slipping.

On a park bench, a mother sat with what looked like a small child. Dillan watched, enraptured, as the child jumped off the bench and danced around the mother in an uneven circle.

The spell didn't break until she heard a rustling from back in the room.

She waited until he was at the door to the balcony, listening to the sound of the sheets scuffing along the floor behind him.

An inhale, his mouth opening to break their morning silence, but she beat him to it.

"Is it normal to forget things when you're drunk?" She asked. It didn't feel normal. Waking up in a strange place—not knowing where you were. It brought her to a feeling of a time long before all of this. To when the Ghoul had woken her up, taken her body—

"-Depends on how much you drink!" Pavel chuckled, but then quieted as Dillan turned around. He wrapped the sheet tighter around his waist. "Is something wrong?"

Dillan had an inkling as to why he'd be naked, but she couldn't recall the exact details of the night before.

She righted her expression, shrugging off his concern. "Just a bit disorientating, you know: waking up in a new place."

She stepped past him back into their room, so he didn't have to join her on the balcony. Too cramped, barely four feet wide.

Trailing one finger along his shoulder, she said, "Let's get you some clothes."

* * *

"And then we just… had breakfast," Pavel said, baffled.

Sulu chewed on his bottom lip. Once he realized that Pavel had finished, he nodded emphatically. "Yes… _breakfast_."

Pavel raised his eyebrows at him. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Uh…" Sulu leaned forward in his chair. "What were you wanting me to say?"

"Nothing!" Pavel held up his hands. "I just thought it was weird that she did not mention the— that we had—" he paused. "You know…"

"Sex," Sulu said. He clearly enjoyed the confusion growing on Pavel's face. "And I'm guessing you haven't actually spoken to _her_ about it?" He asked.

Pavel nodded, his gaze sliding underneath the table to his shoes.

"Was this was the first time?"

Another nod. "With her—us, together, I mean." Red crept up to the tips of his ears.

"I- I had tried before," Pavel said. "But she—how do you say… brushed me off?" His posture deflated when Sulu nodded. For once, he'd used an expression correctly. "We were both very drunk, and I'm worried— I am worried I made a mistake."

Sulu got up, went around the table to Pavel's side, and patted him on the shoulder. He felt an almost imperceptible twitch from him. "I appreciate that you consider me such a trusted confidant," he said. "But try talking to her again—definitely before the next time you two get into bed."

Pavel shrugged him off, getting the gist of his message. "I will try that." He looked up at him. "Tell Ben I say 'hello' to him, yes?" Then he returned to his slouched position.

Sulu gave him one last nod before walking out of the cafe to his ride.

Pavel downed the last of his coffee before placing the mug upside-down in the bus bin. He watched through the cafe window as Sulu's car drove away, wondering where in the world he might find Dillan that afternoon.

* * *

By the time Scotty found her, she'd already moved from blueprints to a prototype.

He waited at the end of the table for a full minute, watching as she fiddled with the clasp for the index finger joint. Once it became apparent that she'd become fully consumed by tunnel vision, he cleared his throat.

She looked up, frustrated at having been interrupted, until she recognized him. The frustration melted away, turning into something more inquisitorial.

She waited for him to speak, and when he started, returned to her tinkering.

"Don't you think it's a little much to be working?" He asked. "…On your vacation?"

She made a 'hmm' sound behind sealed lips, trailing her metal index finger from the elbow to wrist.

Scotty set his teacup down on the table—the one item he'd brought from the ship before repairs had started. He'd taken to carrying it around with him, as he found that tea rarely tasted better in a different cup.

He went to the other side of the workstation. A number of different displays shone up from the table's surface, all covered in her rough blueprints and calculations. In the centre—between him and Dillan—there was a spindly exoskeleton of a hand and forearm, supported by a stand on either end.

He held one hand over the nearest equation. "May I?"

She glanced from the arm to where he stood, eyes squinted. One hand remained on the index finger while the other saved all present digital work.

"Go ahead."

He pulled the variables apart piece by piece, dissecting her measurements and estimations.

After a minute, he looked up. She'd shrunk back into her work, as if she'd completely forgotten he was there.

"Did you take into account his cent—"

"-Centre of gravity?" She interrupted. Her fingers continued their dance along what would be the middle and ring finger, then skipping back to the thumb. An array of tools were fanned out around her work station. She picked from it without looking, and always placed them back where they came from.

"Of course I did," she said.

"I miss when you were polite…" Scotty muttered.

Dillan didn't respond right away, and when he looked up, he saw that she was staring at his teacup intently. He shifted it from one hand to the other.

"Where did you get that?" She asked. The uptick in her voice at the end of the question caught his attention. For the first time in their meeting, he realized that her voice didn't sound like it usually did.

"What do you mean?" He said, half-humouring her and half concerned.

"The cup," she said. "Did you purchase it somewhere on Somerdale?" New question, different tick. This time, it sounded more like what he knew to expect from her.

Scotty brushed off the question with a wave of his hand. "Ach, no, I just bring it out once in a blue moon—reminds me of home, y'know?" He grimaced the moment he said it. Was her 'home' really something she wanted to be reminded of?

"I see." A smile flashed across her teeth, just barely reaching her eyes.

"Sorry." He scratched the back of his head. "I probably shouldn't have-"

"Don't worry about it," she said, her eyes wide with an understanding that he couldn't tell if it was real or fake.

She returned to her work, adjusting a fixture on the wrist with a driver the size of her pinkie finger. With her free hand, she pressed a dial icon that zoomed in to where she was on the blue print.

"Well," he said. "I just came here to see how you were doing…" When she didn't respond, he continued. "-And to ask about your RSVP to Locke and Ellie's wedding."

"Oh." She looked up—not at him, but at the ceiling. "Am I really meant to go to that?"

Much later, Scotty would reflect on whether he'd heard real anguish in her voice, or if it had just been a genuine question.

In the moment, however, he responded in kind.

"I know things aren't exactly amicable between you two," he said, recalling when Dillan had drugged Eleanor Andrews in her disastrous solo repairs attempt. (An incident many of the medical staff had now linked to Andrews' premature labour.) "But it's kind of... an event?" He suggested. "Most of the crew is going to be at the reception."

He glanced down at his teacup, losing his chance to catch the devious glint that flashed across Dillan's eyes. For one instant, her attention had been fully drawn away from her project.

But by the time he looked back at her, she'd resumed her natural, hunched posture over the prototype prosthetic.

"I think I'll just stay in here for now," she said, scrolling down to the conclusion in one of the many equations she'd drawn out.

"Are you sure?" Scotty said, already knowing her answer.

She nodded, a quiet 'hmm' just escaping the back of her throat. Her own prosthetic hand blended in neatly next to Bennet's.

Scotty nodded, slowly retreating to the lab's exit. He'd check back on her later, once the festivities were in full swing.

Only once he left the lab did he realize how similar her and Bennet's prosthetics looked. Nearly identical, down to the voltage pattern on the end socket.

* * *

Across the banquet hall, Andrews raised Louan into the air. Finally freed from his week in the incubator, he emerged a moderately-sized, crying—and healthy—baby boy.

Pavel massaged his temple with two fingers. It had been days since his last hangover, and he was convincing himself not to incur another.

For the moment, seeing Andrews and Venter with their son, all smiling in their fancy wear, he leaned away from the idea.

Bones hovered off to the side of the wedding party, doing his best to replace the concern on his face with his customary scowl. His doctor's instinct screamed at the newlyweds to put their infant back inside the incubator, but all of the tests had come back negative, so he'd resolved to keep his mouth shut for the evening.

Spock and Uhura—both members of the wedding party in their own rights—intermingled with the swirling crowd of formal uniforms and traditional clothing.

Uhura kissed cheeks while Spock doled out a respectful nod to both bride and groom. To much hilarity (and embarrassment, on Venter's part), Spock had performed the best man's speech in Bennet's absence. Embarrassing as it had been, it was a warmer speech than anyone had expected from him.

Sulu and his husband Ben lingered at the fringes, debating over what sort of advice they'd give the new married couple. That said, Venter and Andrews would be staying behind on Somerdale for the time being, giving the two of them a bit more time to settle into their new life.

Scotty was currently elbow-deep in one of the capture-drones, re-aligning its connection with the local server. He'd be damned if the wedding pictures got lost in some idiot's roaming cloud.

Pavel scanned the hall for Kirk—their resident officiator—and found him deep in conversation at the drinks table. It looked as if he hadn't come with a plus-one—which, as the captain, had probably been the wiser choice.

As Pavel turned away, Kirk caught him staring. He picked up his drink and moved in his direction.

He glanced back at Scotty, who now had the drone's front display re-installed, motor up and running just in time for the wedding party photos. He'd gotten back to Pavel about Dillan, but their apparently one-sided conversation had left him even more muddled.

If she wasn't back to their room by the next morning, Pavel decided, he'd go talk to her himself.

He'd grown worried by the sound of their conversation—her cold, distant demeanour towards Scotty. —Not that he hadn't been concerned beforehand, just now it seemed… more than a deep-set passion about getting Bennet his new arm.

Speaking of Bennet… Pavel had yet to spot Harrev at the reception. Another nail in the concern building up in his chest.

"No plans on dancing tonight?" Kirk drew his attention with the clink of placing his glass on the table between them.

Pavel shook his head. "just… staying on my feet for now." He recalled the melting lights and heavy boots from the bar. He didn't like that the last time he remembered Dillan acting like herself was when they had been drunk.

"You?" he asked, attempting to keep their conversation adrift. He was tempted to ask about Dillan or Bennet—but worried that bringing them up too much might leak their troubled into the greater crew. He didn't want anymore attention right now.

"You'd have to convince me," Kirk said.

They both side-eyed the dance floor as a particularly upbeat song came on.

The newlyweds lingered off to the side with their son, while most of the wedding party danced. 'Most of' of course did not include Spock.

Uhura tugged his arm, gesturing towards the crowd. He frowned as his pocket buzzed, then pulled out his communicator.

Pavel sipped his water, unawares that anything had gone amiss until Kirk got up from their table without a word.

Beckoned by Spock's more-stern-than-usual stare, he looped around the dance floor to meet his first officer.

Pavel watched them talk, and only when they both looked in his direction did he put down his drink.

* * *

"Breakfast," Dillan said. She closed her eyes, searching, then exhaled, defeated. "That's it."

"So you can't remember anything past that morning?" Bones asked.

She nodded, then mumbled a yes when Bones said he needed verbal confirmation.

"Just… breakfast with Pavel," she said simply. "We had pancakes."

Bones looked up from his padd, masking his face to not show any signs of concern.

"You remember having pancakes?" He asked.

She nodded, followed by another yes.

"Okay. Are you alright with me leaving you here for a couple minutes?" He gestured to outside the room. "I just need to log some data."

"Yeah, that's okay."

"You don't want me to leave a nurse to stay with you?"

"I think I'll be alright for _five_ minutes, Bones?" Dillan smiled.

Once he left the room, she pulled the sheets up to her chin.

* * *

"Pancakes?" Pavel said. "But that was two days ago…"

Bones nodded. "I thought as much…"

"This means…" His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for the words. "She is not remembering correctly?"

Bones bit the inside of his cheek. Once Pavel looked at him, he nodded.

"I'm gonna be completely honest with you, Chekov," Bones said, putting down his padd. "I don't know why she can't remember the last two days." He shook his head. "Hell, I don't know why we even found her collapsed outside that _vault._"

"I should have gone to see her myself…" Pavel murmured. Bones shot him an intrigued look. "I could have caught it before it became too serious."

Bones didn't tell him it had likely already _been_ too serious long before all of this. Accidents like this didn't appear out of nowhere—they required history.

"What do we do now?" Pavel asked. He looked at Dillan through the one-way screen. She lay on her side, either sleeping, or just staring at the opposite wall. He couldn't tell at this angle.

We don't do anything, Bones said. "_You_ are gonna go and try to enjoy the rest of your day, while _I_ am gonna monitor her for more symptoms."

Pavel hung his head. "So I am just supposed to leave. Go back to another useless party."

Bones resisted the doctor-ly urge to pat his shoulder. "Try and embrace the mediocrity, man. She'll be back by tomorrow afternoon."

Shaking his head, Pavel let out a puff of air through his nostrils. "I will try, Doctor McCoy."

He turned to leave, but at the door, asked him one last question.

"Did Spock say anything else?" Pavel asked. "What she might have been there for? Something on the security cameras?"

Bones pretended to think to himself for a moment, then shook his head.

Pavel nodded sombrely, then left.

Once he was finally alone, Bones let out a heavy exhale. Looking back at the screen, he noticed that Dillan had sat up in her bed. She faced away from him, her metal hand pushing through the short hair that covered her scalp.

He hadn't been authorized to tell Pavel that the probe they'd recovered on Quintus had been inside that vault. That, and many other artifacts, of course, but it was the only one they knew Dillan to have any kind of connection to—no matter how far removed.

Usually, he would have questioned Spock's confidentiality ruling on this. (In his experience, keeping valuable information from patients rarely lead to good results.) But upon hearing what Spock had heard through his short-lived mind meld with Dillan, he'd elected to keep his mouth shut.

_Static._

From end to end, all Spock had heard was static.

* * *

Bones left his temporary Somerdale office late that night. Before hoisting his bag over one shoulder, he checked the security feed of Dillan's room one last time.

The primary camera showed him an arial view from above the door. She lay motionless in her bed, sleeping, he presumed, due to the pills he'd prescribed earlier.

He turned off the light to the office, then headed to his room for a few hours of well-needed sleep.

On the security feed, Dillan remained relatively motionless, feigning sleep for the next twenty minutes.

After those twenty, if the audio had been turned on, Bones would have heard the swish of the door to her room sliding open.

Light streamed in through the doorway, over-exposing the camera lens for a few seconds. By the time it had readjusted its settings, Dillan had sat up in bed and was staring at someone in front of her.

At this angel, all the camera saw was their shadow, its long form arching across her room.

* * *

Thank you to **MistyToryRabiyah**, **Eleana22**,** LovePurpleFlowers** (sorry, it wouldnt let me put in your whole name :( **JessGriff2302**, and **Alice-Hatter **for all joining the story! Whether you favourited or followed, it's so great to see that people are enjoying it!

And to **eilsbax08:** I'm glad you found it again too! Thank you so much for reading :D


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: things are about to get ****_wild_**** ya'll ;D**

Chapter 22: Breaking Point

* * *

Dillan woke up on the floor. Sheets hung from her bed, wrapping around her legs in a tangled mess.

She sat up, and wiped the grog from her eyes.

Her vision had cleared by the time she propped herself against the side of the biobed. By craning her neck she could see that it was just past 0700 hours.

Once her limbs had adjusted to being awake again, she tensed her legs and pulled herself up, gripping onto the bedside table for support.

Her metal knee buckled under her weight. It took a couple stretches, extending it all the way out at a forty-five degree angle for the joint to right itself.

She smoothed the blankets across the bed's surface, then sat on the edge and waited.

* * *

Pavel came to check on her halfway through the day.

In his mind, it was just in time for lunch.

Dillan smiled weakly, but agreed when he suggested they go see the ship before heading back to their room.

As they entered the lift outside of Somerdale's medical centre, Pavel spotted Bones staring at Dillan intently. He gave him a curt nod just as the doors closed.

Despite declining his offer for coffee, Dillan held onto Pavel's arm the entire walk to the viewing room.

He helped her onto a bench, then, without letting go of her hand, sat down next to her.

She shivered, despite the climate control through out the station (regulated to a mildly sunny Earth day), and he cursed himself for not having brought a jacket.

As Somerdale rose in its orbit, the sun's rays lit up her head. A spot danced up the tip of her nose to her hairline. Her short, scruffy hair bloomed in the light. She closed her eyes and took it in.

Pavel turned as the metal shutters of the viewing room whirred to life, then began to retract into the walls. Soon enough, the Enterprise was revealed in all its glory.

He waited for Dillan to open her eyes.

"This is my favourite time of day," he said. She squeezed his hand in response. Their shoulders nearly touched.

"Everyone is just waking up, but I already have a start."

She nodded.

The first auto-crane powered up and began to assess the Enterprise for its next round of repairs. Once it deterred the highest priority, a sizeable dent in the hull, it removed the surrounding plates and got to work.

"I can be here, and for a moment," he said, "It is like the world is perfectly still."

It couldn't be like that on the Enterprise. Unlike Somerdale, where there was a relatively cyclical 30-hour day, crew worked shifts around the clock. Someone always had to be present in case of an emergency.

He turned to face Dillan. She watched the machines do their work, until a sigh from Pavel drew her attention to him.

He took both of her hands in his. "Can you talk to me? Please."

Her brow furrowed, and he briefly wondered if she really had gears inside her head. In the same moment, he chided himself for that thought. Gears and oil ducts—nothing as archaic as that.

"Talk to you…" She cocked her head, as if listening to someone else speak up. "If you mean about what happened, then- then I'll try." Her voice dropped in tone. "But I can't make any promises. I'm sorry."

Pavel shifted on the bench, crushing the fear in his chest back down into a tiny pulp.

"I just…" he began, then trailed off. "I just wish you could tell me what's going on."

"_Pavel_. I don't _know_."

"Yes, but this isn't the first time something like this has happened," he said. "You—you put yourself in danger—or just happen to find some situation along the way, and thrust yourself into it without even considering to ask for-"

"If you're talking about that thing with the oxygen , I think it's pretty clear that I learned my lesson there." Dillan gestured to her short hair, along with the patches of metal shining through her face and neck.

"No! I'm not, because—" Pavel paused to take a deep breath, collecting himself. "You still think of it as 'that thing with the oxygen'," he said quietly. "But for me it was the time I almost lost you."

Dillan took her hands out of his and leaned back. Despite her posture, she was anything but relaxed. "What do you want me to say?" She asked. "I _am_ sorry. I fucked up, and we lost sixty days of our mission. I got what I deserved, even though the rest of you paid…"

The colour receded from her vision, followed by the shadows. Listless shapes were all she saw. Lumps that represented walls and chairs and people.

"That's what I mean," Pavel said, still containing the fear locked at the base of his sternum. Fear that threatened to turn into anger.

"Not—" he corrected himself, "—that you deserve it." He ran a hand through his hair, almost going for what was left of hers, but changing course at the last moment.

"You talk about what this cost the mission—and that seems to be your only concern!"

She sighed. "You want me to focus on how it hurt you instead."

"Yes!" He exclaimed, then corrected himself. "Well, no, not just me—everyone aboard—including yourself! We just don't understand why you did not consider the effects of putting yourself in danger like that."

"From what I've heard, Captain Kirk has done it dozens of times before."

Pavel shook his head, exasperated. "That is because he is-" Not that it made it any more right. Setting the worst possible example for his crew at times—at least in terms of self-preservation.

They took a moment to shift away from one another. Pavel looked back out at the ship, clasping his hands in his lap.

Dillan shivered. Her arms wound their way around her torso, her chin dipping down to her chest. To an outsider, it might have looked like she was just resting her eyes.

The moment passed, and she re-opened them. If Pavel had faced her a second earlier, he would have seen a murderously apathetic look in her eyes. She blinked once, replaced it with concern, and took his hands in hers.

"What do you want me to say?" She asked.

"I don't want you to say anything," he said. "I just don't want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger—and for you to know that you can talk to me, whenever. I need you to…" His voice trailed off as he stared into her eyes.

She looked back at him expectantly. "I need you."

* * *

Dillan slipped out of the bedroom to the small of food. She felt heavy, as if each step were held down by an extra measure of gravity.

The foreign ache in her hips might have played a part as well, but she didn't pay any mind to it for the time being.

Pavel stepped around her as she entered the common area to their apartment, an unusual spring in his step for this late in the day.

"Did you sleep alright?" He asked when she sat down at the table. "You were out right after we finished," he added, noting the uncollected look on her face. "Seemed a bit burnt out after all of it, so I thought I'd make us something for a night in."

She smiled weakly before falling into the chair opposite to his. She massaged her hip absentmindedly. Her core felt uncharacteristically wound up. Like a rubber band twisted to the point of snapping.

Pavel brought her a plate and a cup. She twirled her fork from finger to finger, stopping when she saw what was on the plate.

_Do I _eat_ meat?_ She couldn't remember the last time she had.

Pavel watched her from the other side of the table, just four feet away. "Is something wrong?" He asked.

Dillan nearly rebuked him for asking. She felt a sudden urge to scream at him from across the expanse, but held back out of confusion. And fear.

"You asked for this…" he said slowly.

"What?"

"The food." He gestured to their plates. "I asked what you wanted to eat, and you told me chicken."

Why had she wanted to do that? Why had she wanted to scream at him?

"No," she said, laughing despite how her instincts begged her to do otherwise. "Nothing's wrong. Sorry, I just feel a little out of…" Her voice trailed off. She definitely didn't eat meat. She hadn't had any in over a month, right?

"Hey." Pavel got up and went to her side. "Should I call for Bones?" He stared at her. Their eyes both searched for something in the other's.

After a moment, she shook her head. "No, sorry for worrying you, I'm just… tired. That's all." She patted his arm. "Just tired."

He gave her a once-over before returning to his end of the table. "If you say so."

They dug into their dinner. It only took a few bites for them to reach the next worst thing.

"I guess I should give you the benefit of the doubt," Pavel said, a fragment of chicken aimed at her on the end of his fork. "You passed out this afternoon—like _that,"_ he said with a snap of his fingers.

Dillan paused, then slowly put her fork down. She watched Pavel eat; stared at her own food; then at the time piece handing on the wall. 1700 hours. Try as she did, she couldn't remember the events from that afternoon.

"Pavel…" she said, calling his attention from his food. He looked at her expectantly, the worry returning to his eyes in an instant.

"What did we… what did we do this afternoon?"

Red creeped up Pavel's ears as he cleared his throat.

"You, uh, you really do not remember?" His voice came out as a croak. When he saw the confusion on her face, he set down his fork. "Dillan: we had sex. Do you really not—"

"Oh no!" She let out a trill of laughter, gesturing to him with her knife. "It's coming back to me now." She let a coy smile slip over her features, hoping it would have some effect in convincing him. "Hmm." She looked away. "Yes. That."

She resumed the meal as if nothing had happened. It took three bites for her to no longer recognize the colour of the carrots in front of her face.

Pavel still hadn't gone back to his food.

"Do you need—" he asked, but stopped when she pushed her plate away and excused herself from the table.

She made a beeline for the bathroom. Before he heard the lock click, Pavel was on his communicator.

* * *

Dillan turned on the shower, setting the timer for twenty minutes. She scratched at her head, threading her fingers through the greasy strands of hair.

_When did you last wash your hair?_

She left the door to the shower cubicle open. Soon, fog began to spill out into the bathroom. She turned on the fan, and went to stand in front of the vanity. In front of the mirror.

She couldn't remember what colour the blacksplash was—this was normal. Normal people didn't pause to think about the colour of the bathroom tiles in their temporary guest apartment.

But the problem was, now she couldn't see the colours, period.

Her entire scope of vision had turned to muted tones of grey. The countertop, dark, the toilet seat, light.

With her right hand—or rather, her metal hand—she reached up and slapped herself across the face.

She gasped. Spots of blood appeared on the counter

She knew it was blood. At least her senses of smell and touch hadn't deserted her—for now.

Dillan forced her right hand back down to the countertop to join its partner. That had been a hard hit. And it hadn't been hers. She hadn't meant to hit herself.

Her right hand twitched, fingers extended, and reached back up to her face. Before she could pull it back, the fingers had latched onto her right ear. It pulled her face down, smashing it onto the darkened countertop. She struggled, spine arching in a sharp C curve, as her nose compressed harder and harder against that dark vanity counter.

She tilted her forehead down, trying to get some kind of leverage against whatever force this was.

She would have cried out, had her left hand not clamped over her mouth.

It stayed there, cutting off her air supply until the veins in her neck bulged.

Right hand on the back of her head, left hand over her mouth and nose, she forced her self up and away from the counter, towards the wall directly behind her. With a muffled cry, she slid to the ground. Her left foot pushed against the floor tiles—a different shade of grey than the ones on the backsplash—until the bones started to hurt.

She finally—_finally—_regained some semblance of control over her hands. Enough to plaster them to the ground on either side of her feet. She took in great gulping breaths of air, shoulders heaving as she tried to process what had just happened.

Her head jerked in the direction of the door as Pavel knocked on the other side.

"Dillan?" he asked. "Dillan, please open the door!"

Her tongue stuck to the bottom of her mouth. She could breathe, but for once, when she wanted to reach out to him, she found that she couldn't.

A buzz surfaced in the canal of her right ear. She shook her head, trying to get rid of it.

But as much as she pushed, the words she wanted didn't come.

"I'm okay," she said. Her eyes widened. "Just going to take a shower. Clean up, you know?" Each word forced its way through, stomping down on her tongue on its way out. "I'll just be a few minutes."

"O- okay then." His voice was quieter now; retreating. "Just.. please be quick."

She tried to call out to him before he got out of range, struggling across the floor to crouch at the edge of the door frame. But something held her back from breaking out, from hitting the door with her fists, from screaming and shouting for help.

As Dillan thought that, a voice wove its way through her head. The voice sounded like her own, except it wasn't hers. It couldn't be, not when it whispered those words, familiar and frightening, all in the same breath:

_"__Stop this," _they said, _"Resistance is futile."_

Her shoulders flattened against the wall. Dillan raised her human hand to her face. The cut on her lip didn't gush blood, but enough had dribbled down her chin to make it look bad.

_Why can I only feel half my body? _She chided herself for asking it. She'd probably just imagined the voice.

But that wouldn't explain why she only had one functioning leg and arm.

_"__Because I have yet to override those areas," _the voice said, and Dillan's lips moved with it. _"Why is your makeup so… organic? This is contrary to what I was told. This is not according to the explanation."_

With every word it spoke, the voice sounded more and more like Dillan.

_No, no, _no. _This isn't happening!_ She thought to herself. _Not now. I won't lose this now._

_Resistance is futile,_ the voice repeated.

"N-no!" Dillan grunted. She surged forward onto her feet. Apparently, against her body's own wishes, as her right knee sunk right back down to the ground.

_"__Stop this," _the intruder said, again in her own voice. Static surged inside of her head, colours winking in and out of existence.

"You… already… said that!" Dillan gasped as the resistance in her right arm lessened. She shifted her left foot, then planted her right. She placed her shaking hands against the vanity countertop once more.

"Get out," She muttered to herself. "Get out, _get out." _

The static reached a near unbearable point, then backed off, retreating to the furthest points of her mind. It stayed there, on low, for the time being.

Dillan hoped it would be time enough for what she was about to do next.

* * *

Pavel nearly fell into the bathroom as the door teetered off its hinges. He held out the wrench he'd used to unhinge the door, a gesture he'd regret a few moments later.

He couldn't help it—barging in on her, that is. If he'd waited any longer, Pavel would have never forgiven himself.

He found himself shoved against the door frame as Dillan staggered out. She made a beeline for the dining room, and her padd.

He followed her, caution and emotion warring inside his head. "Alright, _what_ is going on now?" He said. "You are talking to yourself, and I am hearing you fall, and cry, and—is that blood?!"

He reached out to touch her, but she smacked his hand away.

She winced. "Sorry, I— I can't control myself right now."

"-What?" What do you mean?" He asked.

She finished typing out the message and sent it without a second thought. The padd fell out of her hands, landing on the floor below.

Her shoulders tensed, and Pavel watched as a wave, of, well, _something_ ride up her neck and roll around her head. She let out a shaky, unstable breath, then went quiet.

"Dillan," Pavel said, taking her hands into his. "_Dillan_," he pleaded. "You need to tell me what's going on."

When she looked up at him, he didn't recognize the person he saw.

"What has she done?" Dillan growled.

"What?" Pavel said, just before she reared back and shoved him across the room.

His feet left the ground for a moment, but it returned just as quickly. As he crashed to the floor, he heard Dillan cry out:

_"__What did she DO?!"_

He scrambled behind the kitchen table to wait out her fit. She stormed from kitchen to bedroom, then back again, all the while muttering to herself.

Pavel kept himself quiet and small, intending to wait out the worst of whatever this was in hiding. But he couldn't hide for long.

_"__I know you're there." _With a strength he'd never seen from her, Dillan pulled the wooden table a full five feet away from him, leaving Pavel alone in the centre of the kitchen.

A disdain burned in her eyes unlike he'd ever seen before. Utter contempt for his fragile human soul.

Before he could even think to do anything, she reached out and grabbed his wrist in her metal hand. He cried out as she tightened her grip, tugging him to his feet.

"Where is Four?" She asked. "Tell me, _now. _I will know if you are lying."

"I- I- don't—" He looked over her shoulder as the door to their apartment slid open. Several figures entered and stopped at the sight of them. Dillan, furious, with Pavel hoisted above her.

"Please!" He cried. "Stop this! Whatever this is—"

For a moment—the only one that gave him any kind of hope—he saw a flash of realization in her eyes. Realization and hurt.

And then they were upon her. Spock and Kirk pulling her from him. Sulu moving in between them. And Bones, using not one, but three sedatives to stop her kicking and punching until she fell to an unconscious heap on the floor of their vacation apartment.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Welcome back! In this chapter we get an idea of Dillan's new other half… and what that may hold for their future together. (Also, yes, this is getting posted a day early because I have _so much _work to do this weekend XD) **

**Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 23: Prisoner 04

* * *

As it was a Starfleet-funded project, Somerdale had numerous similarities in terms of its bureaucracy. This included its prison.

The Somerdale jail was arranged in a cylindrical tower with no external identification. Had the citizens known its true identity, the nearby bakery would likely get far less business.

Until now, they'd rarely held up to more than 5 inmates at a time for more than a month. Mainly used as a transfer station, its inhabitants could find some relative peace and quiet before being moved to a more long-term centre.

Each floor had ten cells, their glass fronts arranged around a central security desk.

To everyone's confusion—including, at times, her own—Dillan spent the next four days in one of these cells.

For the first hour, she stayed quiet. Mainly resting on the cot provided for her.

By the second, she forced herself to get over her embarrassment, and used the toilet in full view of the security cameras.

On the third, she received her first visitor.

"Wake up: there's someone here to see you." The voice of her monitor (their name was Krempke), came through the speakers in her cell.

Dillan sighed, then sat up in her cot.

She remained seated for the next five seconds, processing who stood on the other side of the glass.

"Commander," she said, steeling herself for a litany of redundant, self-analytical questions. "I presume you're _not_ here for my psychological evaluation?"

His expression didn't change, but she had a feeling—if he was even capable of it—that he was rolling his eyes on the inside.

"You already know that Doctor McCoy will be conducting that."

His stance, as always, was ramrod straight. The only difference was in his hands, flattened to his sides, contrary to their usual position clasped behind his back.

Dillan craned her neck to get a look at Officer Krempke. They seemed to be busy at their desk—far too busy for this late in their shift. Probably trying to glean as much eavesdropping time as they could before the guard change at 2200 hours.

Spock ignored her inattentive attitude. "I am here to inquire about the message you sent me."

"As one does." Dillan got up from her cot and went over to the glass. "Well?" She held out her hands. "Inquire away, Commander!"

Spock stared at her for a moment. She seemed entirely different from the snapping, biting person they'd dragged in here earlier.

He pulled his communicator out of his pocket and read the message aloud.

_"Spock: I think I'm going to hurt Chekov. Send help."_ He closed his communicator with a snap. "This was sent shortly after Officer Chekov conveyed a similar concern to Doctor McCoy. Only his was directed towards the possibility of you harming yourself."

Dillan smiled sadly. Smart of him to do that—even when he hadn't known he was doing the exact right thing.

"And when you got there," she said, I assume I was doing just that?"

Spock cocked his head. "You are… unaware of your actions?"

Dillan crossed her arms over her chest. "You could say that." He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't.

"Well?" She said, biting her lip. "Are you going to ask me why I sent you that message?"

Spock tucked his communicator into his back pocket. "I believe the authorities would much rather have an answer as to why you assaulted Officer Chekov."

His words pulled her down, strengthening the gravity around her until she was forced to sit down on her cot.

"I…" Her voice barely a whisper. She put her head in her hands, then took it out of them and stared up at him. "What happened?"

"You threw him," he said. Spock watched her shoulders tense. They rose up until her head had nearly melded with them. Fingernails scraped across her bare scalp, searching for some alternative meaning to his words.

_ "Is he okay?"_ She asked from within her shoulder cocoon. Of course he wasn't, but she still needed to ask.

Spock waited until she had properly unfurled herself before he responded.

"He is shaken, but, as Doctor McCoy put it: 'in far more stable hands.'"

Dillan winced. "I didn't want to hurt him. I wasn't in control," she blubbered, "I- I wasn't completely there right then, and…" Her voice got quieter. "And there was this _voice."_

Spock leaned forward a nearly-imperceptible amount. "Are you suggesting someone _told _you to assault Officer Chekov?"

Every time he said those words they came at her like a slap to the face. _Assault Officer Chekov, you assaulted chekov, you _hurt_ Pavel._

Dillan looked straight at him, her shoulders now held down as far as they could go. "A voice in my head told me I wasn't in control anymore, so I sent that message to you. Then I was here." Like quick-cut snapshots from a security file. There, now here, and no recollection of what had transpired in between.

Another aspect to her seizures, perhaps? Despite every warning bell going off in his head, Spock couldn't come to another conclusion at that moment. All he could think of was that it had to be more than what he was seeing right now.

"Did you experience anything during your time between sending the message, and your…being here?" He asked.

"During my time?" Her head fell back against the wall. All he could see from her expression now was the dips in her chin each time her lips moved.

"No, there wasn't anything in between. I just, I blinked, and I was in another place. This place." She sat up straight. "Has Pavel asked about me?"

Spock let his chin fall towards his chest. "I am not at liberty to speak on that matter."

Surprising even him, Dillan nodded, and didn't protest his response. "Right. Do you know how long I'll be in here?"

"No," he said, then paused. "Though I expect you won't be transferred for at least three days."

"Good." She thought to herself, that would give her some time.

* * *

She guessed at least five or six hours passed between Spock and her next visitor. Partly because she managed to sleep during that time, and partly because Bones brought her breakfast.

She couldn't help but wonder if she'd really been sleeping all those hours. She felt as tired as when Spock had left, but the officer monitoring her had changed, so she didn't feel as comfortable asking him if he'd seen her up and walking during that time.

While Bones set down her breakfast tray (_inside _her cell, much to the new monitor's displeasure), she tried to recall every time she'd 'fallen asleep' over the last week, and wondered if it had really been just that.

The more she thought about it, the walls of her cell turned from a navy blue, to a dark grey. The walls stayed white, and Dillan retreated.

"Alright, you can turn around now," Bones said. Removing her hands from the wall, she swirled on her heels with the attitude of someone who thought they had all the time in the world.

"Shout if you need anything, Doctor McCoy," the new monitor said from the other side of the glass, clearly displeased at the thought of him being in there alone.

"Sure…" Bones said. "I'll do that." He didn't know exactly what to expect, but the phaser hidden at the bottom of his medical bag gave him reason to think he wouldn't need any help. He paused at the thought of needing any sort of _help_ regarding Dillan. What on earth had they come to?

The door behind him locked with a sudden finality. Bones crossed the cell in two paces, motioning for Dillan to sit down, and placed his bag on her cot.

"Here's how this is going to work," he said. "You're going to stay there, _sitting_, unless I tell you otherwise, okay? I'm just here to do my job, so if we could keep the escape attempts to a minimum, that'd be just peachy."

His job, in this case, was a psych-eval, disguised as a blood test. But every moment she sat there, still and unspeaking, he felt the ruse of it all slipping through his fingers.

"I wouldn't make it very far if I tried to escape, would I?" She said, more to herself than him.

Bones pursed his lips. "The door's locked, so no, you wouldn't."

She looked towards the glass. "Even past the door, though, there are at least six guards on this floor alone. You only station one where we can see to give off a sense of ease."

"We didn't have anything to do with this," Bones muttered before he could stop himself.

Dillan looked at him. "Well that's a relief."

They stared at each other for a moment, tension stretched taught like a wire between them. It broke once Bones said he needed a blood sample. Dillan held out her left arm. She watched the hypo go in, the red slosh inside the capsule, and exhaled slowly when he removed it.

Bones stowed the hypo in his bag, reaching down to the bottom to pull out a small capsule with a dish affixed to one end.

Dillan leaned forward, elbows on her knees, as he placed the disk to the centre of her back.

"Breathe normally, please," he said. She stopped holding her breath.

Once he put the gauge back in his bag, she asked, "Does being in here frighten you?"

His hand stilled inside the bag. She watched it, waiting for what he would bring out next.

"…Why would that frighten me?" He asked.

Dillan leaned back against the wall, crossing one leg over her knee. "Because I hurt someone, someone I apparently cared about, and you—_they_—had to put me in here because of that."

Bones frowned, even deeper, if that was even possible at this point. "Is that a confession?" If it was, they didn't need it.

Dillan cocked her head. "More of an admission at this point, really." She crossed her hands in her lap. Bones left the bag open, but hefted it onto his shoulder. "When will I be transported to a more secure facility?"

He kept his visible reaction to a minimum. "This cell is more than secure."

"Which is, of course, why you're in here with me now," Dillan said. She looked up at him. "I know, for the both of us, this just the first in a series of steps. And I know I won't be returning to the Enterprise."

"Not if you keep this up, you won't," Bones said.

She sighed, but didn't seem entirely disappointed with the prospect of it. "Keep what up? Honesty?"

A short static burst came through the speakers in Dillan's cell. Bones looked out at the officer at his central desk. He nodded to him. His time was nearly up.

When Bones looked back down at Dillan, he saw much more sincerity in her face than had been displayed in the entirety of their previous conversation.

"When can you get me out of here?" She asked. He half expected her to get up, to try and stop him from leaving. But she remained seated, deflated in her cot, already resigned to her fate, and the answer she knew he had to give her.

"Dillan… you know I can't do that. It's out of my hands at this point—the only reason they have me here at all is because—"

"—of the psych eval," she finished, then said quietly, "Yes, I can tell: you _are_ frightened. Just ever so slightly…"

Bones backed away towards the door. He signalled with his hand for the monitor to unlock it. He could see the two guards, stationed just on the periphery of Dillan's cell, tense, both reaching for their phasers.

But she stayed in her cot, hands in her lap, muttering as he left her there:

_"This would be so much simpler if you just let me go…"_

* * *

The plan, the plan, the plan… where had that gone?

Eight needed to get out of here, find Four, escape Federation space, get home.

Escape. Find Four. Get home. Start over.

With her current character, none of this would be possible. They were confused by her, and since she couldn't control the other—the _past_ host—she'd have to feed off her empathy as quickly as possible.

Every minute she spent in this cell was another minute away from their mission—their people.

Finding Four—or Four finding her—had been a stroke of luck. They couldn't waste it.

Eight looked up as a tray of food shot through the slot in the floor. She was meant to eat it, then push the tray through an identical slot on the other side. Hunger wasn't something the Borg were supposed to feel, but already, she could feel the other host's needs taking over.

Colour resurfaced in the corners of Eight's vision. She heard the bumbling, chattering thought pattern of the other host swell within her own. She rolled her eyes, cursing her, and retreated.

* * *

Dillan ate as if she hadn't in hours.

More time had passed, and again, she remembered none of it. After moving the food tray through the other slot, she paced the edges of her cell, eyes closed, trailing one hand along the wall to guide her.

Talking to herself wouldn't help her case, so instead she concentrated. Thought, and thought hard.

She shouted, whispered, and cried internally, reaching for the one on the other side. The other one with her.

She tried this for nearly thirty minutes, only to be interrupted by a commotion at the lift to her floor.

She opened her eyes to see someone getting dragged away by the guards—thinking, did she already know there were other guards on her floor?—and caught a flash of their green skin. In an instant, she knew who it was.

* * *

Chekov sat alone on a bench, watching the repair bots work on the Enterprise. At this point, just a day away from departure, their work was more about final inspections, and less about repairs. The bots went floor by floor, testing security protocols, life support systems, communication arrays, and of course, oxygen regulators.

He thought back to when he'd taken Andrews to med bay. The ease at which he'd fallen back into his typical gullibility, believing Chasidy when she said she didn't know what had happened to her. She was the only other person there, how could he have been so stupid?

Harrev sat down next to him, curling his spine just enough to rest his elbows on his knees.

Chekov stood up and turned to leave, but stopped when he saw who it was. He sat back down on the other end of the bench.

"Is Bennet still in surgery?" He finally asked. He looked just in time to catch the end of Harrev's nod.

"He will be fine," Harrev said, then added, "But there's nothing I can do for him now." He cupped a hand over his mouth. Chekov looked away as he began to cry.

"I am sorry," he said.

"He does not know me anymore," Harrev said between gasps.

Chekov put out an arm, meaning to rest his hand on his shoulder, but stopped when Harrev shied away from him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Forgot about that." Chekov inhaled shakily, letting his hand fall to his side. "It— it felt the same with Dillan," he confessed. "Like she was a different person."

Harrev nodded. "I went to the prison today." At Chekov's sudden guarded expression, he added, "I thought I could... get something from her."

"And?" Pavel leaned towards him. It had been a week since he'd seen her. A week since… _that_.

"They stopped me the moment I stepped out of the elevator." Harrev leaned back against the bench. "Did not even see her face."

He went silent for a moment, and when Chekov looked up, he saw him staring pointedly out at the Enterprise. The tears had dried, leaving a few shiny tracks down his cheek. His shoulders tensed, poised, as if he was waiting for him to say something. Extrapolate.

Chekov sighed. "I am just as in the dark as you are."

Harrev's chin fell down towards his chest. "Did she say _anything_ suspicious… before she was, you know…?"

"Arrested?" Chekov shifted on the bench. "I do not know. We were not listening out for each other then."

How long had they not been listening to each other? he thought. A few days? A week?

Harrev turned back to him. "I think there's something more here," he said. Chekov saw an energy in his eyes he hadn't felt in weeks. "We should try and speak with Sam after his surgery."

Chekov glanced at him. "We? Why should I go and talk to him for any other reason than to see if my friend is alright?" He was so tired of all of this.

Harrev scooted an inch closer to him on the bench. " There's a connection here," he said. "He and Dillan spoke, the night before they left the ship, they spoke with one another and— and we don't know what was said—do you know what she said to him? Did she tell you?"

Chekov realized this was the most he'd ever heard Harrev speak in one conversation. When he first came to the ship he'd barely ever said more than the manual demanded of him. Chekov stood up, turning his back on him.

"I do not have the answers, Harrev." Chekov stood up, turning his back on him.

Behind him, Harrev deflated into the bench.

But then he remembered: his girlfriend (was she his ex at this point?) had attacked him five days ago, and no one had asked if he was okay.

Chekov shook his head, turning it over one shoulder to regard Harrev one last time. "Not right now, at least."

As he walked away, Harrev called after him, "You know they are not coming back on the ship. Our partners are going to be left behind!"

Chekov kept walking.

* * *

By this point, Dillan knew she was the only prisoner on her floor. So the next time the lift opened, she had a feeling it was for her.

She listened to the footsteps. Heavy, purposeful: had Spock come to speak with her again?

Kirk paused at the central desk, where the fifth new monitor during her stay pointed him to her cell. She waited on her cot until he came up to the edge of the glass.

She saw barely-disguised bags under his eyes, and a nervous twitch in his right hand. She curled the metal fingers of her own right hand into a fist and pushed it into her upper thigh. The tick subsided after a moment, and she stopped pushing.

"I heard that Bones went inside," she said. "It'd probably be better if you didn't."

After a moment of consideration, Kirk said, "Who am I speaking to now?"

She closed her eyes. It made sense for him to ask. She'd started asking it herself.

"It's me," she said, then winced. "Dillan, I mean. The real one—I guess…"

"The 'real one'?" He said, raising an eyebrow. "That's comforting."

Dillan gestured to her cell. " Nothing about this is comforting. But I think I know when I'm… Well, when I'm me, now." She shrugged. "So at least there's that."

_A victory you're not even sure you can have. _She shook her head.

Kirk crossed his arms. "How can I tell?" He asked.

"Ask me a question only I would know the answer to?" She cocked her head. "Wait, no, that won't work. I'm pretty sure she has access to my memories. Or she's just been waiting in my head for all these years."

"So there's some kind of dormant second _person_ inside your head?"

Dillan shook her head. "More like—well, yes, that's exactly what it's like."

Kirk thought to himself for a moment. "So… this is why you've been saying you didn't hurt Chekov."

Dillan felt like crying, but she'd already done that twice today. "Yes, like I've been telling you: I'd _never _hurt him."

Kirk turned away from her. "Well you—or at least part of you—did."

Dillan got up from her cot, pleading with him. "Whatever happened, I didn't mean to do it. I don't remember anything you say I did." Her voice cracked as she pushed a sob back down into her chest. "…My memories are getting more broken-up by the hour."

Kirk swiveled back to her on his heel. "Then how can I trust anything you say?"

Dillan put her hands to the side of her head, then dropped them once she remembered it. "I think… I spoke to Spock earlier, right? He was here first. Then Bones, now you."

Kirk stepped forward. "Dillan, the last time Spock was in here was four days ago."

The ground seemed to jerk sideways, and Dillan found herself sitting in her cot a moment later, elbows propped up on her knees to keep her head up straight.

"Well, shit," she laughed. "That's concerning."

"How much time passed between me and him?" Kirk asked quietly.

"A couple hours, maybe?" Dillan tried, then winced. "But apparently not, huh… Damnit."

She glanced up at Kirk, briefly catching his eye before he looked away.

"Alright," he said, "Where does this end?"

Dillan laughed, otherwise she would have started crying. "You're asking _me_—I, who was apparently out for nearly a week—and you want my lucid opinion on where this _ends_? I have no idea, Captain." She had a feeling though, and it made her stomach hurt even more.

Kirk inhaled. "Well, the Enterprise is heading back out tomorrow, and I don't expect you'll be with us then."

Dillan deflated a little, though it was a response she'd been expecting. She decided to give him an out.

"You're gonna have to be more direct about that, Sir. Best not to leave any room for interpretation."

Kirk gave her a sad smile, collecting himself for what came next. "Right, then… Cadet Chasidy, I relieve you of your duties aboard the Enterprise… and relinquish custody of your person to the Federation's judicial system."

Dillan got to her feet, moving to the centre of her cell, directly across the glass from Kirk.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?" She said.

"We'll do what we can," Kirk said. And they both knew full-well that he was lying. Can't do much when you're light-years away in deep space.

* * *

Later that night, Monitor Johansen—accompanied by two other guards—unlocked the door to cell five.

Before they even stepped inside, the prisoner was awake, alert, and curled up in her cot.

Johansen brought out the hand cuffs, motioning for the other guards to take a step back.

"Wait for a moment," they said, hoping to do this with as little force as they could.

Johansen took a step inside the cell and held out the handcuffs. Their other hand rested on their waist, just above their phaser.

"I don't want to go," the prisoner said. "Please… just let me stay in here." She had her head in her hands while she spoke.

Johansen frowned. "Let me get this straight: you want to _stay_ in this cell?"

The prisoner nodded, whispering, _"You can't let her get out."_

Johansen relaxed their stance. The guards waited at the cell's entrance, perturbed by what was taking so long.

"We're not _letting_ you get out, it's just a transfer," Johansen said dryly. "And you can either come willingly, or I can go get a sedative." They gestured towards the door.

"You don't understand: this is what she wants." The prisoner looked up at them with her pleading eyes. As Johansen stared down at her, however, something inside them changed.

The prisoner's lips began the formation of the words _'oh no,'_ but stopped before any sound escaped.

"Alright, sedative it is—" Johansen began, then reached for their phaser.

The guards scrambled inside as the prisoner rose to her feet. Her motions were equally timed, lacking any of the disparity they had just a few moments ago. She stood straight up in the centre of her cell, arms at her sides, and didn't resist when Johansen put on the handcuffs.

As they led her towards the lift, even with two more guards waiting inside, they had the sinking suspicion that it wouldn't be enough.

* * *

**Thank you to **KillWilson **and** bookwriter123456 **for favouriting/following last chapter!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Welcome back! Hard to believe that it's nearly been a ****_year_**** since I started posting this story.. 2020 has been one hell of a shitstorm, so I hope this story gives you some escape, like it and many others do for me.**

**Thank you for reading, and stay safe!**

Chapter 24: Escape

* * *

Eight felt the other screaming insider her own head. Her cries battered against the walls, each strike a thud on the base of her skull.

She was in a hospital. Surely there was some kind of medication around here that could help her.

Eight tested the magne-cuffs secured around her wrists. They stayed put, binding her in place. She looked up as a doctor came up to her bed. She didn't recognize him—he wasn't the same person who'd interrogated her before. A more… local physician, perhaps?

He stared down at her arms, locked against either side of the bed, then regarded her hunched posture with interest.

"They're for your own safety," he said.

The doctor crossed the bay to the replicator on the other side. Eight watched him, sullen, and strained the cuff on her right wrist. She thought of how much easier it would be to get out of it if she knew where the control pad was. But in her current state, she'd need help.

The doctor came back over with a padd and a cup of coffee. He set both items down on a table next to her biobed, then pulled up a chair.

"I'm Doctor M'Benga," he said, easing back into the chair.

"What are you here for?" Eight stated.

He held up a finger, then opened his padd and pressed record. "There. Now we're on the record." He took a deep breath. "Doctor M'Benga, Stardate 14.35.61… Patient C, conference one."

Eight resisted the urge to roll her eyes—an obnoxiously human habit she needed to get rid of. "So you're another psychiatrist," she said cooly.

"What makes you say that?" He asked.

She smirked. "Because you're someone I've never met before and I'm confined inside a medical facility."

He crossed one leg over the other, taking an infuriatingly long sip of coffee before placing the cup back down. She couldn't tell if he did it to intentionally anger her or not, but either way, she wouldn't let it work. She couldn't—not if she was going to play this next bit right.

"I am here as an impartial observer," he said, then cocked his head. "Doctor McCoy has helped me out on occasion, so I owed him a favour."

"I call him Bones," Eight said quietly.

"Do you really?" M'Benga leaned forward in his chair—though not so far forward that she could have head butted him. "Tell me more about your relationship."

For once, the other voice inside Eight's head—the voice of the previous host—went silent. She stopped pounding against the inside of their skull and waited. Waited for Eight to make a mistake.

But what she didn't know, was how much had been transferred in Eight's induction.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Eight scoffed, shrugging her shoulders.

"It's not about what I want," M'Benga said. "I have all day to sit here while you stew in silence."

"I-" Eight began.

"-It's about what you want," M'Benga continued. "What do you want to be on the record; what do you want me to know?"

"You mean what I want Bones to know?" She suggested. He held out a hand in a conversational gesture.

Eight sighed. "I… I'm Dillan. I'm the one he knows…"

He regarded her silently for a minute, taking in all of the aspects of her act.

"How can I be sure that you're telling the truth?" He asked. "Because if what you've said over the past week is to be believed… I'm not sure what to believe."

"I don't know how to make you believe me," Eight said. She winced as the other screamed from inside her head. She wished for her to stop, and, surprisingly, she did. "I just know that right now, I'm Dillan."

"Hm." M'Benga made a note of it on his padd. "And what of this other person… The voice who surfaced in the past week: what do you make of them?"

"She's someone else," Eight said. "Some_thing_ else. I want her gone."

M'Benga sat back in his chair, exhaling. Well, this complicated things. The only way they had on hand to tell was for Spock to mind-meld with her. But he said the last time he'd done that, there'd only been static. That, and the fact that mind-melds were really only a way of transferring emotional information, and not actual consciences. If there was a more reliable way to tell what was going on, they would have gotten out of this mess a right when it had started.

"Am I going to be left here?" Eight asked.

"You mean, will you be aboard the Enterprise again any time soon?" He shook his head. "Unlikely."

She straightened up in her bed. "What about Sam Bennet?"

"He's chosen to… stay behind," M'Benga said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

Before she could answer, Eight was hit with another round of shouts from the other inside her head. She winced, and would have put a hand to her forehead, had the restraints not held her back. M'Benga noticed her struggle, and was about to comment on it when she spoke.

"I have…" Eight feigned a groan—though with the added pain, the acting took less effort. "My head hurts. -Has been hurting for the past few days. Can you give me something for it?"

M'Benga knew he shouldn't give her anything unprescribed, but the wave of confusion and fear that crossed her eyes made him re-evaluate it.

He put his padd back down next to her biobed, and left her to go to the medicine cabinet.

While his back was turned, she took his padd and opened up the communications app.

By the time he returned, pills and water in tow, she'd returned it to the bedside table, leaving him none the wiser.

* * *

The Enterprise's repairs were complete. Somerdale's mechanics had surged ahead of their schedule, leaving one day of spare time before the crew re-boarded the following afternoon.

The ship was in peak condition. However, the same could not be said for the morale of the crew. The senior officers had arranged a final gathering for their last night on Somerdale.

"…before we continue our foray into the unknown!" The invitations had said, causing many to roll their eyes and scoff.

Sulu arrived with his husband, Ben, on his arm. For the first twenty minutes, the hall was agonizingly empty. But soon enough, a steady flow of crew began making their way inside, emboldened by the idea of free drinks and familiar company.

If they were going to drown their emotions in alcohol, they'd at least do it together.

Scotty was at the bar, having declined a co-worker's request to dance. Instead, he chose to go over the debriefing he'd just received on the Enterprise's repairs.

He didn't know why he bothered to go over it at all. Somerdale had a competent, well-vetted assembly line of mechanics and repair bots. He doubted any of them had gone rogue and tried to wrangle a delicate procedure all by themselves.

At that moment, Bones joined him on his right, and Kirk on his left. Both sat down and let out a sigh in unison, betraying the abundance of repressed fears both had about continuing the mission. Then they both laughed, albeit nervously.

* * *

"I just don't understand why you won't tell me what's going to happen to them," Uhura said. She'd stopped Spock just before they entered the party, pulling him off to the side.

"I was under the impression you wanted to dance tonight, Uhura," Spock said.

"Really?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Passive aggressive passive voice? It's unbecoming of you, Spock."

_I was using the past tense_, he wanted to say, but had a suspicion that it would not aide their conversation.

The last thing he wanted to talk about was Chasidy and Bennet's fates.

_Fates._ What an overdramatic way to put it. _Sentencing_ was far closer to the reality—at least in Dillan's case.

She'd been taken into the medical facility's custody, and would be transferred by the end of the month to a different station to begin her therapy.

He suspected that it wouldn't be long before her identity would just become another row of numbers filed next to all the rest in the healthcare sector's disorganized beaurocracy.

Spock took Uhura's hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

"We cannot do anything to change it at this point," he said, and the defeated look in his eyes was more than enough to break Uhura's spirit too.

"It's out of your hands," she said. He nodded.

"Figuratively, yes." Literally, however, it had never even been there.

* * *

Andrews bent at the knees, letting her backside brush against the carpet before she placed the box on the floor. She stood up fast—too fast for her body's comfort—and her pelvic muscles cried out in protest.

Venter set the baby basket down on the kitchen (they had a kitchen!) countertop. He motioned to her, silently mouthing: _you okay?_

She shrugged, then sat down in the nearest chair. (They also had chairs now!)

Their new apartment was leagues bigger than the old one aboard the Enterprise. The decorating crew had done a number on it, leaving zero creative license to the new parents in regards to the nursery.

Venter brushed his hand against the mobile hanging over the crib, and it lit up. Rays of yellow and blue light flowed over the three of them.

Andrews winced, and waited for the music, waited for Louan's inevitable waking.

It never came. She and Venter both opened their eyes to the lights, but thankfully, no music.

"Must be broken?" He whispered. She shrugged, and they continued to move in.

Once all the boxes were organized into their respective stacks, Andrews looked at the time on her padd.

"The party's been going on for a bit," she said, glancing at Venter, then back to her feet. "I think I'm going to drop in for a minute."

"Party?" He whispered, hovering over Louan's basket with his padd.

"Yeah, last night on Somerdale, remember?" At least for everyone else.

He set down his padd. "Right, I'd nearly forgotten. They're leaving tomorrow, aren't they?"

Andrews locked her gaze onto Louan's basket, incredulity written all over her face. They'd lived with that crew for nearly _two years._ The thought that Venter was already starting to move on was beyond her.

He hadn't taken his eyes off of their son just yet. Venter worried that if he did, even for a moment, he'd miss something important. Good or bad, he had to see it.

He glanced back at Andrews. "You should go down."

She nodded. "I just feel like I missed out on a lot when I was pregnant… I think I need a minute to catch up on some things before they all go." She straightened up, preparing to defend her point even further.

Venter assessed her for a moment, then nodded emphatically. "You're right: you deserve this." He turned back to the basket, giving the infant inside a little wave. "Besides… I can't wait to have some alone time with our little man."

He picked him up, gingerly, but nevertheless, Louan awoke and started to cry.

Andrews smirked, pulling on her jacket. "Quality father-son time, I see."

Venter winced as Louan tugged on his ear with surprising force. "Exactly what I had in mind…"

Andrews gave them both a hug, then left their new apartment to the streets of Somerdale.

On her way through one of the many parks, she spotted a trio walking through the darkness some distance away. She couldn't recognize them, but raised her hand in greeting anyways. The trio adjusted their course away from her before any connection was made.

She shrugged, thinking little else of it as she made her way to the party.

* * *

The morning after the party, Sulu said goodbye to Ben, and went to pick up Pavel.

No one had seen him the night before, with many assuming he'd stayed in his apartment, drinking alone.

He waited outside his door for three minutes before requesting a key from the superintendent.

Sulu took one step inside, then called Kirk. He picked up surprisingly fast for a starship captain who was about to depart.

"Tell me you know where Chekov is, Sulu," Kirk said, out of breath by the end of the sentence.

Sulu stepped around the overturned lamp and into the kitchenette. He knew for a fact that the apartment had been cleaned up after they'd taken Dillan away. He knew, because he'd helped Pavel put everything back into place.

"I don't," he sighed. "And it looks like there was a struggle at their—_his_ apartment."

He frowned at the shattered glass on the floor. It looked like several champagne bottles' worth.

Kirk sword under his breath. "Of course: it all had to be connected."

"What has to be connected?" Sulu asked, finishing his rounds of the kitchenette

He stopped at the threshold to the bedroom, his grip on the communicator tightening.

"Our departure has been postponed," Kirk said. "Both Dillan and Bennet have…" he went silent. "…gone missing. Them, and one off the short-range cruisers."

"Right," Sulu said, almost certain of the small red splatter across one of the bed posts. At this distance, he could just see enough detail to notice some of the red, jelly-like substance that clung to the wood. "Definitely connected."

* * *

Dillan woke up in darkness. She sat up—or had been sitting up the entire time—and opened her eyes. She blinked, felt her eyelids flutter up and down, but the darkness didn't change.

No light—not even a spotlight on her—and what felt like a suffocating abundance of space in every direction.

She sat on the bottom, legs strung out out in front of her, arms clutching at her stomach. She was in a place, but she couldn't see or feel what that place was. There wasn't even a smell, as far as she could tell. Nothing to hear, except for the beating of her own heart.

She looked up—felt her own chin tilt up to an imaginary sky, ceiling, whatever—and saw the same thing there that she did everywhere else.

There was a floor. A ground plane, steady and unmoving. She felt her way onto her hands and knees, then just knees, then haunches, hunched over her bent legs.

She stood up, and nearly fell back down again. The lack of spatial awareness overwhelmed her to the point of dizziness.

* * *

Four of Twelve, the host formerly known as Samuel Bennet, rotated his new left hand at the wrist. The synthetic tendons and ligaments responded appropriately, tensing when the rotation reached its limit.

Shifting in the pilot's seat, Four returned his hand to the cruiser's front display.

Once they'd got out of Somerdale's sensor range, he'd set the cruiser on autopilot and turned around in his chair.

Eight of Twelve had tied up their newfound hostage, laying him down on a bench at the back of the ship. She now sat in her own chair with a frighteningly satisfied look on her face.

Bringing the hostage along hadn't been a part of the plan, but it had become part of it when they'd broken into the apartment to retrieve Four's new hand and he'd been standing on the other side of the door. Almost as if he'd been waiting for them - or for her.

In that moment, Eight had been ruthless, sedating him in a matter of seconds. But her insistence on bringing the now-hostage with them had left Four concerned.

The Borg weren't supposed to make emotional connections. And this almost seemed like a grudge. Perhaps briefly sharing a mind with her previous host had led her to be more attached to this particular life form.

Regarding their hostage one last time, Four nodded to Eight, then shifted his attention to the navigations controls.

The ship they'd stolen didn't have any warp capabilities, leaving them with two options: drift through space on the thin hope of making their way home alive, or landing on the next inhabited planet in search of a better ride.


End file.
